You Will Be The Death of Me
by TheSeaAtNight
Summary: In which a plot is inspired by Despicable Me and Voldemort does not so much as mentor Harry but rather tries to get him to leave him alone.
1. WO L'S OR HAN GE'

Prologue

Halloween; a Saturday

It was a wet and dreary night and three people had just died. Do not think for a moment that these two occurrences were in any way related, or that the rain had just decided to appear to make these passing more tragic. It didn't.

It had actually been raining on and off for the last two weeks and the forecast predicted that is would be continuing for the next two or three days depending on wind speeds. This was relatively common in the UK and no one blinked an eye at it. It should also be noted that this was the forecast for London and that though it was currently raining there, it had not so much as spilled a drop where the affronted three people had died.

So you see they were in no way related.

But even so, it was a wet and dreary night in a very specific part of London. An area where one could find the sorts of people you didn't want to meet alone at any point or place in your life and a place where you could find a lot of something you might desperately want if you were that sort of person. If you knew this part of London at all you would know where it started and where it ended and the one place that rested in the center of it all.

Wool's Orphanage.

Wool's Orphanage was a sad looking three story building and a desolate plot of land. The cast-iron gate that surrounded the building was rusted and no longer locked properly. The large brick wall that surrounded the land was falling apart and in some areas the wall had even been broken down to create doorways through. No one had bothered to repair any of the damage and the owners had long since stopped bothering with locking the gates anyway. No one was ever truly insane enough to want to go toward the building, much less break into it, and those trying to get out, well it was one less mouth to attempt to feed. Nothing had grown around the building for as long as anyone could remember and because of this, and the fact that it was currently raining, the dirt yard that usually surrounded the building had turned into a thick and sickly looking gray mud. The building itself was made of the same red brick of the surrounding wall and had become so dirtied throughout the years due to coal smoke and general filth that it now looked almost black. It was only when wet that the red of the brick shown through, running lines of deep scarlet down the sides of the building making it look more like the structure was bleeding than anything else. It was too dark this night to truly see this affect, but in the day light it was a truly a terrifying sight.

There were a number of theories about the orphanage and the area around it. Most people thought that the scum that currently inhabited the area were old orphans from Wool's that grew up to be good for nothing's. Some thought the orphanage itself was cursed and was, slowly, over time, draining everything decent and civilized around it. Another theory said that the orphanage was in fact a living entity that had forgotten it was never a house and was slowly feeding on all the good thoughts and memories of those who got near.

All three of these are true, though they are all a bit of a complicated tangle of cause and effect.

None of that really matters though; the only truly important thing to know about Wool's Orphanage was that it was an absolutely dreadful place to live.

And in four years' time someone very important was going to be living there.

* * *

Four years later; A Thursday

A small boy sat in the back of his uncle's car. This was his sixth Halloween and, following tradition, it was turning out to be terrible. Where most children were happily looking forward to dressing in ridiculous costumes and getting loads of candy, Harry, the small boy in the back of his uncle's car, was looking forward to being abandoned. Again.

He knew he should probably be happy with this development, he hated the Dursley's, but he had been told over and over how much worse orphanages were. The Dursley's were terrible as it was, he couldn't even imagine how bad this place would be.

"I picked out the absolute worst for you boy." His uncle said from the front seat. He smiled at Harry through the review mirror, it was terrifying and Harry desperately tried to disappear into the seats.

"I'm sure they will treat you just as you deserve, little freak." Harry swallowed and tried not to cry. He was a big boy now that he was five, he could go to school, and therefor he wasn't allowed to cry, not anymore.

So he sniffled and did his best to hide his fear as they pulled up in front of large cast iron gates.

* * *

One Year, Seven Months, and Seventeen Days Later; a Sunday

Voldemort looked down at the lifeless women on the floor. So pathetic really, she had been a muggle born ministry worker with a large obsession with romance and still, even at thirty, acted like a thirteen year old girl. It was something that had made her all too easy to seduce, manipulate and control. The only complication had been the woman's power level. It had been so low that he had been worried her magic wouldn't be enough to sustain him or act as a medium to bring him back. As it was he had managed, and though he was far weaker then he would have liked, he could still feel his own magic humming gently under his new skin. It would take a long while to bring it back to its former glory, but at the moment time was all he had.

He may not be a patient man but he knew when it was in his best interest to wait.

"I had forgotten how young this piece of my soul was." he remarked off handedly as he looked down at his new body. He almost laughed when he noticed that his body had formed with his old clothing intact. His old school uniform brought back such bitter sweet memories he was almost tempted to keep them. It was a pointless fancy and one that he quickly squashed and disregarded, sentiment had never done a person any good.

"You are quite handsome at this age my lord, if it is not out of place to say. Though if you wish I will contact Severus and have him prepare an ageing potion for you." ah yes, Malfoy. He had almost forgotten he was there.

"Give me your arm Lucius" Voldemort instructed not bothering to turn to the other. Much to Lucius's credit he didn't even flinch as he moved to present his right wrist to his Lord. The Dark Mark had disappeared about six years ago with his Lord's death, but now with his rebirth the Mark once again marred his skin. It was faint, proving that the Dark Lord was not yet back to his full power, but it was slowly growing darker with each minute that passed.

Presenting his arm to the younger looking man, he waited for the familiar burning sensation which would call all the other Death Eaters to his presence. His Lords wand had been left in his care after the Dark Lord's death and now he watched as Voldemort took it back up. It glowed happily after being reunited with its master after so long and Voldemort seemed to almost return the feeling. The moment didn't last long though as the wand tip was placed on the newly reawakened Dark Mark. The sharp burning pain was quick to follow but Lucius was surprised to find that instead of the Dark Mark becoming darker as he had expected it instead got lighter until it had completely disappeared.

"My Lord?" Lucius asked, not bothering to hide the confusion in his voice.

"Do not think me an idiot Lucius" Voldemort said as he turned away from his servant again and started to strip out of his old school robes. "I may have been 'dead' for a while but I have managed to pay attention to the happenings of our world. The light side has grown in power since the end of the war," he stopped for a moment as he worked off his tie and placed it on his now folded robe. "Not to mention that they now have a lot more support from the 'neutrals' then before" he turned back to Lucius now dressed in only his white button down shirt, black pants and black dress shoes. He almost looked like he was getting ready to go on a date. Lucius would have laughed at that image if it wasn't for the intimidating look in the sixteen year olds eyes. They were blue, much to Lucius's surprise, though there were hints of the red they would one day become. 'No' Lucius had to remind himself 'not sixteen, no matter how young he looked this man was the Dark Lord and could kill him in a matter of seconds should he wish to.'

Voldemort smiled - if one could call that frightening upturn of his Lord's lips a smile - as if he had read Lucius's thoughts. "No, right now I hold more power with the light side thinking I am still dead, and the longer I wait the more power they lose and the stronger I become. You have done me well today Lucius, but for now I expect you to keep my return a secret."

"Of course my Lord, as always I am your faithful servant" Lucius said automatically with a deep bow that caused the Dark Lords smile to grow.

"I would expect nothing less" Voldemort hissed before turning to go, leaving Lucius alone in his study with the dead muggleborn, his now worthless diary, and a few other odds and ends. He had no doubts that Lucius would clean up the mess after him; after all it wasn't like he had much of a choice.

* * *

'Freak' that was all anyone seemed to call him. Sure Mrs. Palmer would sometimes call him Harry but that was only when she was mad at him. When she wasn't mad at him she pretended he didn't exist.

'He is nothing but a no good freak!' is what his uncle had told Mrs. Palmer when he had been brought here at the age of five. He didn't remember much about his uncle, but that memory stuck out. He had never seen his uncle so happy, a grotesque smile cutting its way across his large face, as he had been dragged to the front door of the orphanage. He remembered seeing the high stone walls with sharp barbs covering the tops, the dirt front yard with only a cracked sidewalk leading to a large wooden door and the Iron casting announcing that they had arrived at 'WO L'S OR HAN GE'. The place seemed perpetually shadowed and everything colored in varying shades of gray. He had been frightened when his uncle had finally yelled that he had had enough and dragged him out of there house, but now seeing where his uncle was taking him became terrified, this place was a prison, he was going to be locked up and nothing was going to save him, no one was going to help him. It was at that moment that he realized that maybe something really was wrong with him.

Maybe he really was a freak.

"You bloody freak! Get back here!" he heard one of the boys chasing after him yell as he tore down the hall, his six year old (almost seven he often reminded himself longingly) legs moving as fast as they could. "You little thief! That's OWR ball! It was in our LOCKED room!" that was the other boy now, both of their footfalls seemed to get closer to him with each step. He was almost outside though; he could see the front door now! Just a bit more!

* * *

He would curse his own two feet if it wasn't for the fact that he needed them.

He had left the Malfoy Manner with very little idea of where to go next. He know he could not return to any of his old haunts just yet, not until he knew which ones had been compromised and which could still be used. He also had no wish to go to the old Riddle Manner, knowing that though it was likely his best option, he still had no desire to ever see the place again. In truth is would probably be better for him to avoid magical London altogether, at least for a while longer, as much as that thought pained him.

Instead he had apparited himself into muggle London and allowed his feet to carry him at will while he thought and planned his next move. He hadn't been paying much attention to his surroundings until he had found himself just outside a very familiar set of stone walls and large metal gate.

He glared angrily up at it.

Wool's Orphanage seemed to glare smugly back.

He wondered briefly why he hadn't destroyed the place years ago and what would happen if he set it on fire now. Would it really be worth the repercussions? For a moment he was sure it was. But then again Dumbledore, the bloody bastard, would probably put two and two together, get 6.8, and somehow that would lead directly back to him. Just like that his advantage would be gone. With a small huff of air he turned to walk away just as the front doors flew open and a young boy came toppling down the steps. He was sure that the boy would fall and crack his head open as he tried to regain his balance while still running, but somehow he managed to keep his knobby legs under him and keep moving.

"You freak! You can't get away just by going outside!" another boy yelled as two more boys came running out of the house.

"Ya, and don't try any of that fraky stuff's eitha' like disapearin to the roof!" now that caught Voldemort's attention as he watched the two boys chase after the younger. It seemed, for a moment, that the messy looking younger boy was going too finally out run them and escape through one of the many holes in the surrounding wall. But, as such things often go with knobby little kids, his legs got tangled beneath him and he began to stumble. Feet left the ground quickly followed by a body hitting it and a large dust cloud quickly follow in the opposite direction. Voldemort thought, in the back of his mind, that this was quite unfortunate given the child's already filthy state of dress. The thought didn't last long for soon the other two boys were upon the smaller boy.

Voldemort hadn't even noticed the ball the smaller boy had been holding until it bounced out of the front gate and finally rolled to a stop at his feet.

He looked down at the plane blue ball, which looked like it could use a lot more air then was currently in it, while still listening to the boys in the yard. High pitched yells of 'thief' and 'freak' filled the air along with the smaller boy's sobs and screams of pain. The sounds began to mix quickly with his own memories, becoming almost a daydream - or perhaps nightmare was a better word. He could feel the blows upon his own skin; hear the other children laughing at him calling him a 'monster' and 'good-for-nothing'. He felt himself curled up into a protective ball, his forehead throbbing for some unknown reason, maybe he had hit it?

Then it stopped, or perhaps it had stopped a while ago, because suddenly he was looking at the two older boys standing in front of him on the other side of the rusted cast-iron gate. Both boys were remarkable only in the sense that they were completely unremarkable. They looked alike in the same way most orphans do, too big of cloths, too messy of hair, too thin, and really, a little 'too' much of everything.

They also had remarkably bad teeth. Voldemort only found this out as one of them started talking.

"Hey mister? You deft or somthin'? I said can we have our ball back?!" the oldest of the two scruffy boys asked, his two front teeth were missing, giving his speech a slurred and annoying quality. He watched them for a moment, taking in both of their appearances before he narrowed his eyes at them. They both took a quick step back in obvious fear as he bent down and grabbed the lost ball.

"I usually don't bother listening or tolerating worthless runts like you," He said as his face darkened and his eyes shown a bright red, a smile formed on his thin lips. "Thankfully for you I can't afford to kill you both right now, so I will just settle for keeping this" he said as he held up the ball in front of them, his smile falling quickly into an angry snarl, "I suggest you leave now" he hissed at them, the sentence punctuated by the ball popping loudly in his hand.

He watched silently as both boys quickly scrambled away, losing himself once again to his memories. His fists clenched around the burst plastic in anger, wishing beyond anything that he could destroy this wretched place just as he had destroyed the ball. Perhaps a fire really wasn't that risky...

* * *

His head was burning, had he hit it at some point? He didn't think so, and besides it felt like the pain was coming from the old scar on his head. He flinched a bit as the pain suddenly started to get worse and, what was before a throbbing burn, became an angry stab.

Tears formed in his eyes as he tried to rub the pain away but it didn't seem to be doing much good. He decided that he should probably try to ignore it then since there really wasn't much else he could do. Ignoring pain is easier said than done of course, but it became a lot simpler when everyone else ignored your pain too.

He supposed he should thank the other boys for torturing him so much, he was really good at hiding his agony now because of it.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, trying to keep them steady, as he rubbed his head angrily. His eyes turned to the rest of the garden - if one dead tree and lots of dead weeds could be called that - and tried to look around for the other boys, worried that they might come back to torture him a bit more. He didn't see any sign of the older boys though, had they already run off? He hadn't thought he had been on the ground that long! It was a bit disconcerting, or at least as disconcerting as any six-almost-seven year old can feel, which really wasn't much.

His scar gave another stab of pain which forced his head toward the front gate. The pain only got worse though as he turned toward it, causing water to fill his eyes again. He hated crying, most of the other boys just laughed when he cried, usually he could force himself to stop, but this time his eyes just wouldn't listen.

It was about then that he noticed it, or he supposed him, and his scar seemed to only burn more as he looked at the man. Was he the reason he was in pain? But no, that couldn't be right; the man wasn't even looking at him, but instead seemed to be glaring angrily at the building. Harry knew that he probably shouldn't go anywhere near the man, Mrs. Palmer often told them that there were a lot crazy people out there planning to kidnap kids and take them away. Thinking about that a little bit more, and wondering if 'kidnaping' was all that different from 'adoption' and whether or not it could really be any worse than Wool's. Harry made up his mind.

Making up your mind was another one of those things that is easier said than done, along with making pie and walking a dog. You would happily get started and already be on your way before you even realized you had gotten in way over your head and by that point there was no turning back.

Harry had already stumbled his way to the front gate before he realized that this was probably not his best idea.

* * *

Voldemort was vaguely aware of the fact that he has been standing around outside the orphanage for a bit too long and that the boys he had scared off were likely to show up again, this time with muggle adults. He wasn't in the mood to deal with angry muggle adults, it truth he wasn't in much of a mood to deal with anyone anymore or really ever.

It was too bad, then, that people didn't seem to be getting the hint. Or at least little kids didn't seem to be.

"My head hurts" started the little kid who had now walked up to him on the other side of the gate. As a way to start a conversation, Voldemort considered, there were less annoying and indirect ways.

"You've likely hit it, you fell fairly hardly." Voldemort answered, let it not be said that he couldn't pretend to be decent when times called for it. And if what he has heard earlier was true, it might be, if not important, then at least interesting to learn a little about the boy.

"It's not bleeding is it?" the boy said with a sharp wince and a couple of tears running out of his eyes. At that moment a line of blood did actually decide to start a trail down the boy's forehead.

"Yes," Voldemort said in a way that suggested it was a very boring thing to be happening. The boy rubbed his head at that, smearing the blood around and getting it in his hair, before looking at his hand.

"Oh" said the boy as he looked at the blood. He also made it sound like it was something boring and unimportant, quite a feat for a six year old in pain. He wiped the blood off on his trousers which just ended up with him getting dirt stuck on the blood on his hand. He then looked around himself as if he suddenly remembered something far more interesting.

"What happened to the ball?"

"How did you get on the roof?" Voldemort questioned instead of answering, he wasn't in the mood for any more worthless conversation.

The child looked up at him in surprise which quickly turned to embarrassment. "I didn't mean too" he answered quickly, not questioning how the man knew, after all, everyone knew about that. "It just, well the others were...and I already hurt my knee, and I didn't really want to... And it...it just kinda happened!"

Voldemort was annoyed at the boy's terrible speech and half-finished sentences; his mind was half way between wanting to lecture the child and half wanting to curse him. Both were appealing and both were, sadly, not an option. He took a deep breath to calm himself and to remind him why he had even bothered to continue this conversation in the first place. He couldn't be completely sure, but the boys reply suggested that the incident had been due to accidental magic. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to think that wizarding children were still being abandoned to muggle orphanages and left in the care of such vial creatures. There was little he could do for the child right now though, given his own situation, but he supposed a little magic might go a long way to helping the child understand that he was superior to those around him. Making his decision he held the lump of blue plastic that used to be a ball out to the kid.

Harry looked confused for a second before recognition crossed his face followed closely by sorrow; he had worked hard to get that ball! It wasn't fair that it had broken!

"Did you steal this?" Voldemort asked.

"Erm..." answered Harry, shuffling his feet in the dust and looking away. This was a far better confession then any yes would ever be.

"Here" Voldemort said placing the plastic into Harry's hand "let me show you a trick" he smiled, it was a scary smile, one that, when Harry thought about it later, reminded him a bit of a snakes. Harry's head was still throbbing though so he didn't really think about it much.

The man made an odd hand movement, one that, in any other circumstance meant 'bugger off' but in this case seemed less directed to Harry and more directed toward the lump of plastic in his hands.

He was about to ask what the man had done when the plastic began to re-inflate, and soon enough resolved itself into a ball once again (this time with the proper amount to air in it). Harry knew his mouth was open in a very shocked 'O' and his eyes were likely the same shape. He moved the ball around in his hands, throwing it up and catching it, and then bouncing it just to be sure. The ball was back to normal, even better than normal! Harry looked up to the man to thank him only to find that he was now briskly walking away.

"WAIT!" Harry yelled as he moved closer to the gate, contemplating if he should chase after the man. "Wait! What..." here he paused, he could ask any number of questions, there were thousands already dancing in his mind, but he had to think, to be cleaver, what was the most important thing for him to know?

"What...what is your name!?" he called after the man, hoping that he would get an answer. The man's steps faltered for a second and then came to a thoughtful stop. Silence flowed between them for a long while and Harry shifted nervously wondering if he had asked the wrong thing. "Tom" he finally answered without turning around. Harry's face broke into a large grin as he clutched the ball close to him. "I'm Harry!" he called out to Tom "Harry Potter!"

Tom's body seemed to tense up, and Harry thought for a moment that he might turn back. But slowly the man started to relax again "well then, Harry, it's an honor to meet you." and with that he was walking off again, this time with a slightly faster pace.

Harry frowned for a second before he heard the front door start to open and Mrs. Palmer voice coming through. "Now where is this boy who was threatening you eh? You boys ad' betta' not be pullen my leg! Ya know the consequences!" Harry decided quickly that he didn't want to stick around and made himself appropriately scarce.

* * *

Authors Note: This as simply an idea that has been running through my head for years and that I finally decided to put down on paper. Do not expect regular updates. Do not expect this to become slash. Do not expect this to be a Dark!Harry or a Powerful!Harry fic. Actually, don't expect much of anything (except for terrible humor and awkward situations) and we should be good.


	2. The Best Laid Plans

Chapter 1: The Best Laid Plans

Later that evening; still Sunday

There were three main thoughts running through Voldemort's mind. The first was 'Well then...' the second was 'what?!' and the third, but just as important, was 'this food is atrocious'.

These thoughts worked as follows:

'Well then...' was the shocked thought of someone who really didn't know what else to think about a given situation. It was the summation of a longer thought which consisted of a lot of curse words, jumbled images of a fire, and a number of very well drawn out death-threats.

The 'what!?' was a multilayered thought that ran all the way from 'what in bloody hell was that!' to 'what do I do about it?'.

The last thought had less to do with the situation at hand and more to do with the fact that Voldemort was currently eating dinner. Or at least what passed for dinner in most small British corner stores. This usually consisted of some kind of vegetable mush, some tasteless boiled meat, and plain white bread. The meal was, in fact, 'atrocious'. He was eating it anyway, he had survived on much worse in his life, and as it was, beggars couldn't be choosers. He didn't consider himself a beggar of course; he was merely lying low until conditions turned in his favor and then he would find the perfect moment to strike. Dumbledore and his gang of Merry Misfits wouldn't stand a flames chance in the ninth circle of hell.

At the moment though this was sadly out of his reach and his current predicament meant that he was low on funds and, technically, homeless. He had planned for most 'eventually's even if death hadn't been very high on that list. But because of his foresight he currently had a large sum of money stored away; both muggle and wizarding, in multiple locations throughout England and a few other countries. His over-seas accounts were inaccessible to him at the moment along with his vaults within Gringotts. They were better left untouched anyway. He doubted the annoying little goblins would give him away, mostly out of fear, but he knew that they would sell their own mothers for the right cost. He wasn't willing to chance that yet, not when he still had other option available to him.

His other money stores were in less official areas, but were in no way associated with the name 'Lord Voldemort'. They were the safest ones to access and probably had enough money within them to pay for a place to live and to make sure he didn't starve to death. It would probably last him until winter if he was cautious of how he spent it.

There were some supplies that he would need immediately though, especially given these afternoons...discoveries. Diagon Ally and Knockturn were both out for now, but Ubique Ally would have want he needed.

He also needed to figure out a place to stay. He knew he would have to stay within Muggle London for now, but hopefully his stay among these creatures wouldn't last more than a few weeks. He wasn't looking forward to it and didn't want to put up with them for longer than necessary. As things currently stood though, there were some things he had to get done that muggles were less likely to question then witches and wizards.

Which brought him back to his current problem: Harry Potter.

* * *

Today, Harry decided, was one of the best days he had ever had. Sure it had started out terribly, but meeting the Magic Man and getting the ball back had made it a bazillion times better, in his opinion at least. He clutched the ball to his chest and hugged it tightly, it was his now, the Magic Man, Tom he reminded himself (but that was rude wasn't it? He was always supposed to call adults 'sir' or Mister, so he supposed in was Mr. Tom then), had given it to _him, _so now it was officially his and he didn't have to share it, _ever._

He slipped off of his small wire frame bed and let himself fall to his knees onto the wooden floor. The loose floorboard creaked as he moved his hand over it, slowly moving it aside. Bellow was a deep crevice, deeper than one would expect to be held under a piece of floor. Harry was certain that he could fit anything he could possibly want into this nook and no one would be able to find it.

There were a number of things under this loose floorboard, a life time of things. Some had been there when he had found it, like the small tin lunchbox and the yo-yo, but some of the stuff he had added, like the pack of gum and the small pencil and notepad. He added the ball to the collection now, it was a tight fit between the two other floorboards, but once he managed to squeeze it through it fit comfortably in the space below. He placed the wood panel back to hide it and moved back to his bed. It was getting late, but this time of year the sun wouldn't set until almost 9:00. So instead of trying to sleep Harry resigned himself to watch the world slowly shift outside of his window.

Harry's room was small, very small; in fact it was the smallest in the orphanage. It barely had enough walking space between the dresser and the bed, whose foot end rested snugly against the window and whose side was push as close as it could get into the left wall. The window was dirtied and likely hadn't been washed in over a decade just like the rest of the house. It was Harry's favorite feature of his room though, because it looked directly out to the front gate and the street below. He could see the comings and goings of everyone around him and it made him feel, for a short while at least, that he wasn't alone.

And he did feel alone now, more often than not, especially since Mrs. Palmer had moved him into this room, the only single occupancy room that the orphanage had. This small space was his and his alone. He thought that maybe he should like that, but it just reminded him that he was different and no one really wanted him around.

It had not always been that way though. When he had first moved into the orphanage he had been placed into a normal room with two other boys. One boy was a lot older than him, already in his teens and for the most part ignored the other boys in the room. If he did talk to them it was only when he was smoking some funny smelling green plant. He left one night and never came back, some kids said that he was dead, but Harry liked to think that he had just found some place better to live.

The other kid that he shared a room with was also five at the time and his name was John Johnson. He was one of the children that had been left at the orphanage without a name so the staff had given his the most generic one they could possibly think of.

Harry liked John, he was quiet and didn't talk much at first, neither of them did, but after a few days of living together they found that the silence wasn't so bad anymore. That it was almost enjoyable. They took to spending most of their time together, never really talking, but just enjoying the familiar silence that flowed between them.

They were a sort of friend, Harry thought, an odd sort, but John was the first and only person that seemed to like having him around. That had to make them at least a little bit friends, right? That had made Harry happy for a while, just knowing that he had someone that might, kind of; consider him a friend and that he could also consider and friend.

All things must come to a screeching crashing and flaming halt at some point though, as Harry had now come to expect, and his friendship with John was no different. It happened that winter, just before the Christmas holiday. There had been no snow, which wasn't uncommon for London, but there had been a lot of ice and a lot of mud. Some of the older boys had decided that, since there was no snow to pelt the younger kids with, they would just have to use mud instead, which and quickly escalated into rocks. Most of the younger kids had managed to escape inside before any real damage could be done, but Harry and John hadn't been so lucky.

The rock had hit John right between his eyes, hard.

Harry still didn't know how, or really even _if_ he had done it, but seeing his friend hit the ground with blood streaming down his face…something clicked.

Usually events like this would be a blur, but to Harry every moment was burned into his mind in spotless detail. He remembered the cold spike of fear that ran through him, colder than the air around him that was turning his breath into little puffs of white smoke. The fear had been followed quickly by the hot splash of anger, tinting the world in red. If the rock had been thrown at _him, _if _he_ had been the one on the floor in pain, he knew if wouldn't have cared. It didn't matter what happened to _him _after all, he was just a _worthless freak_. But John, John was human, John was a normal kid, a normal kid that shouldn't be hit, that shouldn't get hurt, because he was _worth_ something, because he was _better_ than that.

He had turned to the other boy, in anger and in hatred, and all he wanted to do was make him _pay_ for what they had done to his friend, because John didn't deserve that, _John didn't deserve to be hurt! _

And then the boy who had thrown the rock was on the ground too, clutching his hand in pain. Loud snapping noises, like someone jumping up and down on a packet bubble wrap, filled the air followed by screams. Screams of pain and of anger as the other boys who had been playing this 'game' ran up to see what was wrong with their friend. Harry didn't pay them much notice, he only kept his eyes on the boy screaming in pain, because this boy _deserved _that pain, he deserved it for hurting someone else, someone _important_ someone that _mattered._

And then there was another rock and Harry saw it from the corner of his eye just in time to brace for the hit. The world had finally gone fuzzy and then slowly sunk into black. The other boy's screams had followed him into the darkness, echoing non-stop in his head.

The screams had still been stuck in his head when he woke up later in this new room alone. His head had hurt and his mouth was dry and he didn't really know where he was. He went to the door to see only to find he had been locked in. It was the first time he had been locked in at the orphanage, but his aunt and uncle had locked him into the cupboard under the stairs enough that he didn't bother panicking, someone would come for him eventually.

And they did, the next morning. Mrs. Palmer had looked down at him in loathing and told him simply "this is your new room, get used to it". He had found out much later that the boy who had hit John had, somehow, broken every bone in his hand and that everyone blamed it on Harry. Harry thought they were probably right to blame it on him because, though he didn't know _how, _he was almost certain he had been the one to do it.

John had stopped hanging around him after that, everyone had.

That had been over a year ago, Harry reminded himself as he watched the world outside his window. It had been a year ago and he could still hear the screams, and wondered if the echo would ever really fade from his mind. It didn't really matter too much anyway; just so long as he forgot to listen he was sure it would eventually disappear.

And maybe once they disappeared than his friend would be his friend again and he wouldn't have to be alone anymore.

He hated being alone.

* * *

Five blocks away and a little to the left the current, though still considered dead, Dark Lord of Great Britain was also sitting on a bed and staring out the window. The room he currently occupied was significantly larger though, with a far better bed. The view was crap however, so it was probably a good thing that said Dark Lord really wasn't so much as looking at it, but rather looking through it.

He had left the small corner store restaurant finding that it was doing little to help him solve his current predicament. Instead he asked the waitress where the nearest place to stay was, he would need silence and his own space if he wanted to come up with some kind of plan.

The young women had offered him the location of the nearest bed and breakfast. "It's not much really, but it's the closest place to stay around here. I would offer to put you up myself," she had smiled "but you just can't afford to trust people in these parts that much." Which he had to admit was very smart, for a muggle.

The bed and breakfast had turned out to be a decently sized house for the area. It was two stories tall and painted in a beautiful sky blue with florescent white trim that had obviously been touched up recently. The yard was tidy and friendly looking with spring flowers just coming into bloom, filling the air with a sweet fragrance that screamed 'welcome' into unsuspecting visitors faces. If that wasn't enough, the old couple that ushered him in was all smiles and friendly conversation, asking how he was and where he had come from.

He was quick to place them under the Imperius curse.

He left them standing stock still in shock at the bottom of the stairs waiting for orders that he didn't bother giving. Instead he made his way up the stairs and into the first guest room.

The room was passable he supposed, at least it had a bed. This was wonderful to Voldemort who had, depending on your point of view, either spent the last six years possessing wild animals, or the last fifty years as a book occupying a small space on a bookshelf between two other books.

Both were true and the main point was that he didn't have an actual bed in either form. He was relieved to finally have a bed to sleep on, no matter how cheap it really was.

Sleep would have to wait a little longer though. Right now he needed to think. He turned his attention out the bedroom window and out towards where he knew Wool's Orphanage stood. He almost expected to see a dark and angry cloud hanging over the area, but instead the sky was clear and shown a deep blue with hints or red as the sun started its slow decent through the sky.

He had never expected to run into the boy so soon, nor did he ever expect to find the boy where he did. He had thought the light side would have enough sense to hide the child away in some far corner of the world, maybe even keep him at Hogwarts or with Minerva, oh heck, in _Australia_. He would never have expected them to drop the boy at an orphanage, Much less the very same orphanage he had been imprisoned at.

As far as surprise tactics went he supposed this one took the gold star.

But since the boy was currently a resident of Wool's Orphanage It had to mean that someone was watching over the boy, someone that reported straight to Dumbledore. If that was the case then he may have already been spotted, and the little trick with the ball would have given him away as a wizard. It had been an irrational and stupid thing for him to do and he blamed to occurrence completely on his recently resurrected state. He could only hope that if he had been spotted that no one would have recognized him. He doubted they would - he had not looked anything close to his current appearance, or really very human, since the 1970's. There were those out there though that would be able to make the connection, Dumbledore for one but also Minerva and that oaf Hagrid would likely recognize him. That meant he would have to figure out what to do about his current 'look', it was too dangerous to keep walking around with this face.

He would have to worry about the Potter boy a little later then. He had already concluded that he would have to return to the orphanage. There was no other way around it, but then next time he would be prepared. He needed to see if there was really anyone watching the boy and if there were any wards in place around the building. He hadn't sensed any, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Once he had determined all of that then he would try and figure out what had gone wrong with his attempt on the boy's life. When He figured that out, and found a way around it, then he could kill the child and have this whole mess over with.

Then, he thought looking out at the London street full of disgusting insects walking around bellow, he could start back where he had left off, removing all traces of muggle society from magical life.

* * *

Six days later; A Saturday.

He should have known right away that it was a bad idea. Once you put something under the floorboards it is meant to _stay_ under the floorboards unless it is really late at night and you know no one else is awake. It had been a rule he had made up, a very important rule to make sure that no one ever found out about his stuff, a rule that he should _never _have broken.

Because now he was paying for it.

He had thought that it would be okay, no one had bugged him for days, and he thought that it wouldn't hurt. He had been so bored and the ball under the floor had been playing at the back of his mind for almost a week now. He had finally given into temptation and taken the ball from its prison.

He had sat on his bed bouncing the ball against the opposite wall and catching it every time it came back to him. He had been so distracted by the rhythmic motion that he hadn't heard the footsteps down coming down the hall until it was too late.

"Is that a _ball!_" Jane, one of the few female orphans asked as she burst into Harry's room, her red hair flying in a tangled puff behind her. "I _thought_ I heard somet'ing odd comen from your room , I did!"

"Wheredja get that from _f-reak?_" Anna, the only other girl in the orphanage, asked as she moved forward and grabbed it from his hands. Her bright white smile created a terrifying contrast against her dark skin. They were both older than him, eight and nine respectively and therefor a lot taller and stronger than him. "Because I don't fink this belongs to ya at all, in fact I think this looks a lot like Justin 'nd David's ball, don't cha Jane?"

"Ya An, I think it looks lots like there one. What say ya freak? Ya go'en round stealin' things again, ya no good thef?"

Harry had been attempting, without much success to grab the ball back from Anna who was currently holding it above her head and too far out of his reach. "That no fare!" he yelled at both of them "I didn't steal nothing! It was given to me!"

"Oh?" Anna asked "who would give something like you anything?"

"It's true!" Harry demanded angrily, sure he had stolen it originally, but Mr. Tom had given it to _him._

"Oh really? It's _true _then? Someone actually _gave _you something?" Jane said as she took the ball from Anna. Harry watched her wearily not liking the smile that was moving across her face. "In that case we don't have to feel bad about poppin' it!"

* * *

When Voldemort finally showed up at the orphanage again it was six days later and it was raining. Though he was still living out of the same small bed and breakfast room, he had managed to find a number of small houses that he could potentially commandeer. He had also managed to ascertain in that time that, shockingly, he and Mr. Potter were the only two wizards in a five mile radius. (There was a trick with a crystal and a map; it was crude but efficient just so long as you weren't in areas heavily populated by witches or wizards). This meant that the boy wasn't being watched by anyone or really anything. Voldemort didn't know what to think about this development, and though he did have a number of theories none of them quite fit the bill. Honestly if he didn't know better he would have thought that the light had no idea Harry was here.

As Voldemort walked toward the cast iron gate, umbrella in hand, he cast some ward detecting spells, but as he had come to expect by this point, there were none. It truly seemed that the young Potter had been abandoned there, though how that came to pass was a mystery to him.

He drew closer until he noticed a bundle of drenched rags sitting in the mud just on the other side of the gate. The child was soaked through which meant he could have been sitting there anywhere from two minutes to two hours. His lips would be blue if he had been waiting longer.

"What are you doing?" Voldemort asked in an annoyed tone more in line with pet owners that had just come home to find the dog rummaging through the bin.

And, like most of those dogs, Harry looked up with a bright smile that said 'you came home! I thought you had left me here alone forever!' "Mr. Tom!" he barked happily.

'Mr. Tom' cringed; he really should have told the boy something different. Though he supposed it was better than 'Mr. Riddle'.

Harry was quick to stand up and run to the gate "Mr. Tom! You-you look…older." He finally finished as he came to a stop on the other side of the metal bars "a lot older, are you okay? You…are Mr. Tom right?"

Voldemort took a deep breath to try and compose himself. He still wasn't completely sure what he planned to do with the child, other than to eventually kill him. For now he needed more information, and that meant having to wallow through an actual conversation with the six year old. "Yes, I know, I am fine, and Yes, I am the same person you meet last week. I just couldn't afford to walk around looking like a sixteen year old anymore". He had opted for thirty two instead, at that age his appearance had changed enough to be only remotely recognizable to the boy he had once been. It also had the added benefit of being a face that no one in England had ever seen, at that time he had still been traveling through Europe and Russia so no one really knew what he had looked like from his early twenties through his late thirties. He resembled himself enough that, if anyone were really out looking for 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' that they would probably recognize him, but he looked different enough that they would probably have to look twice and think about it for a while before they really made the connection.

It was a simple disguise but he had found that the simpler the cover the more effective it was. After all, no one expected for someone trying to hide to _actually_ walk around as themselves. It did help that most people though he was dead though.

"Is that magic too?" Harry asked trying to get a closer look "will it wear off eventually?"

"Yes, and no, it was a potion and it will be permanent" He answered, shifting a bit as the rain started to come down harder. The spell currently keeping the water from hitting him could keep him dry in a flood, but the boy was looking severely uncomfortable and his chattering teeth were grating to his nerves. "What are you doing out in the rain, are you trying to get yourself sick?" he asked, if his voice carried an annoyed tone it was because he was _annoyed. _

Harry shifted for a moment, his wet clothing making an irritating squelching sound, before answering "some of the other kids locked me out and no one will let me back in."

"And the care taker?" Voldemort asked, resisting the urge to tap his foot.

"She's always asleep at this time of day, it's not good to wake her up." The boy shifted again, making that annoying squelching sound.

"Oh for…stand still!" He demanded as he removed his wand, the boy looked panicked for a second, but Voldemort didn't give him much of a chance to react beyond that as he cast a drying and water repellent spell over the boy.

"Wow…" was the boys only reaction as he looked down at this now dry cloths and watched as the rain bounced off of him rather than hitting him. Voldemort glared down at him, he hoped that conversations like this wouldn't be a common occurrence between them; he didn't think he would be able to stand it.

Voldemort was going to comment on the complete stupidity of the boys actions when he noticed the broken piece of plastic in the boys hand. He glared at it and Harry promptly looked embarrassed before holding it out to him. "I'm sorry," he said sheepishly "some of the girls broke it again."

"Yes, I can see that." Voldemort said, not moving to take the burst ball from the boy. Silence fell.

Harry shifted.

"Are you magic?" he finally asked after three point four seconds. It was a question that only worked to grate of Voldemort's nerves even more, given that he had essentially already answered this question.

"No, I am not 'magic'" Voldemort scolded, thinking of multiple ways that he could potentially kill the boy; "I can perform magic."

"Oh...can I per-for-ma" Harry pronounced carefully "magic too?"

"Perhaps," He answered through gritted teeth.

"It's just..." Harry stopped, not really sure what, exactly he wanted to say. He didn't want to disappoint the man after all; he kind of liked him and wanted him to come back. He was the first person that had actually really talked to him in almost a year. "It's just, I don't think I can." he admitted sadly. "I tried to fix it like you did, but nothing's happened." he waved his hand in demonstration, a light three blocks away exploded, Voldemort winced.

Harry was at that awkward age for a wizard which consisted mostly of accidental magic and a large number of messes. The more he actually tried to make something specific happen, the more it wouldn't, and the chances were high that something else would explode or catch fire in the process.

Voldemort sighed and waved his hand.

The light bulb three blocks away was no longer broken, though it was quite a bit confused.

Voldemort waved his hand again. This time the ball re-inflated.

And promptly deflated.

Voldemort glared at it angrily. Harry looked at it dejected before turning the look to Voldemort himself.

"That wasn't very nice."

"No, it wasn't." Voldemort answered, upset that he hadn't actually done it on purpose and wondering why it had never even crossed his mind. But like any good Dark Lord he moved on and put the blame on someone else. "It was very rude of your ball to do that, no manners at all."

Harry seemed to think on this for a moment before nodding in agreement and dropping the lump of plastic into the dirt. One did not want a rude ball; it might go around hitting unsuspecting people on the head.

Silence fell again, though this time the sound of rain hitting pavement seemed to have a bit of a lulling effect on both of them, almost making the silence comfortable. They both studied each other for a long moment until Harry finally broke the silence.

"Are you here to adopt me?" Harry asked trying to keep his face as blank as a six year old possibly could.

This question surprised Voldemort considerably, given that he had just been thinking of the easiest and fastest way to kill the boy. "No" he answered simply and he saw Harry's face fall a little. The boy didn't seem overly surprised though, like someone had been telling him for years that he would never get adopted. Given the orphanage the boy was currently at, Voldemort wouldn't be surprised if that was exactly the case. He remembered how that felt.

He was tempted to leave it there, but he knew he couldn't afford to right now. Until he decided what his best move was he couldn't limit any possibility, nor could he afford to incur the child's hatred so soon. For all he knew he very well _could_ decide to adopt the boy at some point, as improbable as that currently was. So instead he continued along that line, giving the boy at least a little hope for now.

"I currently don't have the means to adopt a child, but once I've gotten myself settled we will see." Which wasn't a lie, but it certainly wasn't the whole truth. He couldn't exactly tell the boy that he had no intention of adopting him and, in fact, he had every intent to kill him. He didn't think that would go over too well.

But his words seemed to do the trick as the boy lit up again." Oh! okay then, maybe later, when you're…settled." Harry nodded, he wasn't sure what the really meant but it didn't matter because he hadn't told him 'no'. Mr. Tom might actually adopt Harry one day and Harry was more than willing to wait.

Voldemort was certain that that would be the end of that and was getting ready to move on to his own questions when the boy's face suddenly crunched up in pain. A small stream of blood rolled down his head and one of Voldemort's eyebrows went up. "You've hit your head again." He said in a matter of fact tone which seemed to surprise Harry. His hand went and touched his head where he could feel the pain emitting from, his hand coming away with blood.

"Nuh-uh." he insisted "haven't hit it in day's" and really the boy looked like he was starting to panic as more drops of blood rolled down his head and dripped into eye. He looked up at Voldemort with a begging kind of gaze.

This was _not_ how the Dark Lord had expected this day to go. For one it had significantly less killing and significantly more talking.

Voldemort sighed and indicated for Harry to move his hair out of the way. The boy quickly did so and a scar was exposed. It was lightning bolt shaped, red, agitated, bleeding a little, and, most importantly, was pouring off black magic. It was certainly not something you see every day, and it felt vaguely familiar to the Dark Lord.

'Well then' Voldemort thought 'Well'. This day had just become far more interesting. This was probably also a good reason, a very good reason, not to just kill the boy yet, not if he wanted to figure out what exactly was stuck to the boys head. "It's just a small cut" Voldemort finally said, focusing back on the boy "you'll be fine."

The boy seemed relieved at this and put the tangle that passed as his hair back in place. "That's good, I was worried" he admitted with a bit of embarrassment. Voldemort could understand that, it really was worrying when you realized just how fragile your body was.

They both shivered, one from the rain and cold, and the other from something very different.

* * *

Voldemort had left Harry shortly after that and found himself at a little tea shop not far away.

"It is absolutely pissing out there." His waitress commented as she brought him a cup of tea. "I'm shocked you're as dry as you are. You must be damn luck." She said as she wiped her hands on her apron and looked at him as if expecting an answer which he did not give. She huffed in exasperation before walking off.

The women was obviously the nosy kind of muggle and usually that would annoy Voldemort to the point of murder, but today his mind was elsewhere. Besides the tea was absolutely perfect, so he let it drop.

He sat, warming his hands on his cup as he starred out the window at the rain. He let the sound lull him into a small of a trance. He needed a clear mind right now.

He needed to think very carefully about his next move. There was a lot that could go wrong if he didn't move carefully. First and foremost he had to figure out just what he was going to do about the Potter kid. Killing him was out for now, at least until he figured out how the boy had survived the first time and what exactly was wrong with that scar of the boys head. He wasn't insane enough to try the same plan twice and expect a different result. But what was he to do with the living Harry Potter?

He sat in front of the window, sipping on his tea as he mulled over the problem. He could always adopt the boy as he had offered. He could teach him, and make him completely loyal to him. But there was a very good chance then that the boy would come out dark and then kill him just to take the status of Dark Lord. It was best to avoid unnecessary competition, especially with a child that was supposedly destined to kill him.

He could just ignore the fact that he had ever met the boy, but then he would lose his chance to influence the boy at all. The light side could take the child and make him into the perfect unthinking weapon to kill him, so that was out too.

Of course he could, and would, attempt to find a way to kill the boy before he even turned eleven, but there was no guarantee that he would be able to meet that deadline, not to mention that he would need access to the child to figure out a way to kill him in the first place. So that was now two strikes against the 'ignore' plan.

But there was a thought, he could perhaps tarnish the boy just enough that he wouldn't be the lights 'perfect weapon'. He could make it so that the boy wasn't just some unthinking, trusting, and easily influenced brat when he turned eleven. Instead he could teach the boy to think for himself, to actually look at a situation from more than one point of view, and to see the world in grays rather than in the blacks and whites that the light side tried to make them.

Yes, that could work. He would influence the boy enough to make sure he could make his own decisions, but not enough to change his whole nature and potentially create a competing Dark Lord. This plan would also have the added bonus of allowing him access to the child in order to study both him and that scar in more depth.

And if he managed to find a way to get rid of the child before he turned eleven then all the better.

Voldemort finished off his tea and allowed himself to stretch, it was decided then, 'Mr. Tom' would stick around for a while and become a small but important influence in the boy's life. A smile crossed Voldemort's lips as he looked again out into the rain, this would almost be too easy.

Too bad he didn't know the muggle saying about 'The Best Laid Plans'. If he did he probably would have just thrown caution to the wind and killed the boy then next time he saw him.

* * *

Thank you everyone who reviewed, it means a lot, and I hope you like this chapter. Please Review if you did, I do love to hear from you all.

TheSeaAtNight


	3. Too Little Words

Chapter 2: in which there are too many words for one thing, and too little for another.

The same day, Twenty-three minutes later, In the Rain: a Saturday

Eskimos have over fifty words for snow; there was a word for wet snow, a word for dry snow, a word for that annoying snow that just seems to float in the air around you in a frozen dance but never actually touches the ground. There was even a word for 'the snow that you really should not walk on because it is not so much snow as it is ice that is melting away and you will likely fall in the river if you try'. Simply put, when you live in a place like northern Canada that gets nine months of snow fall, and where the snow never really melts so much as become a dirty muddy kind of snow, you end up developing a lot of ways of saying the same thing.

Harry did not live in northern Canada, nor was it snowing. Instead he lived in a little sad corner of southern London and was currently standing in a steady down pour of rain that was, once again, drenching him from head to toe. He would much rather have preferred the snow (and if he had been an Eskimo and lived in northern Canada he would have known over fifty words for it and would have been able to specify just what _kind_ of snow he wanted), because at least snow was fun.

Rain was just wet and annoying and Harry was, by this point, very wet and very annoyed. You see, Mr. Tom – A.K.A Voldemort, A.K.A the Dark Lord of the United Kingdom, A.K.A He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, A.K.A the man who had just finished talking to said boy called Harry just over twenty three minutes ago – had forgotten one very important thing: He had forgotten to unlock a door so Harry could get back into the orphanage. So Harry, a young boy of six, was still left standing around outside of the orphanage waiting to be let back in. It would have been okay if it wasn't for the fact that the drying and rain repellent spells that had kept the child decently warm and content had worn off about two minutes and thirty-seven seconds ago.

If asked later, Voldemort would insist he had left the boy out in the cold, and therefore had not cast an unlocking spell on the orphanage front door, on purpose. After all, why should he care what happened to the child? If he died of pneumonia all the better. This would of course be a half lie; he did simply just forget to open the door for the boy, but he also would not care in the slightest if the boy were to die.

Half lies are, as every good Dark Lord and child between the age of five to sixteen (along with a large number of politicians and lawyers) knows, are the best lies because they sound believable and cannot easily be proven false.

And so, as a consequence, Harry had been left out in the rain to suffer.

He had not been idle, knowing that it would do him no good. Instead In his short time under the drying and waterproof spell he had wandered around the orphanage grounds looking for some way back in that he could have missed the first time around. He didn't think he had missed anything of course, he had been locked out enough times to know all of the potential entrances and ways back in, but so did everyone else. This meant that every other child could, very efficiently, close off every possible way in and keep another person out far better than any of the care takers could. Every once and a while this knowledge was used against said care takers, but, more often than not, it was aimed at the other kids. Getting locked out was such a common occurrence that many of the other children and secret places to stay outside of the orphanage walls when they could not, or would not, go back in. some were even lucky enough to have families or older gang members that were willing to give them short term shelter.

Harry was not so lucky as to have such a place. He had tried to find one once, but it had become abundantly clear after a couple hours of searching that all the tiny hell-holes in the area were already occupied and the people occupying them were not to be messed with. He had given up after a short while, knowing he could not fight someone for their claim, though he was regretting that now. The sun would be down soon and if he didn't get inside before that happened then he would have to wait until morning to be let back in, if he didn't freeze to death before that.

It wasn't like the other kids to do that though, sure they were mean and vicious and would call him awful things, but they weren't killers. After all, many of them had been in his shoes before and they knew, especially the older ones, when it was time for the game to stop. (This point was was usually when someone was hurt and sick and in pain but not dead yet, or when the sun was setting and they were all likely to get in trouble if they stayed out much later). This thought drove Harry once again to his feet to look around the building one more time. This time something was different, this time he discovered a window that had been left open. It was not the easiest to access but he could manage if he had to.

He had really hoped he wouldn't have to.

The window being open was, simply put, a sign from the other kids. It meant that this part of the game was over, but that didn't mean that the whole thing had finished just yet. He was, after all, wet and likely going to end up sick, but he wasn't in pain or hurt or in trouble. That could only mean one thing; this was a trap.

But it was cold and raining and all Harry wanted to do was go inside and up to his room to curl up into a ball on his bed. So, knowing that it was a bad idea but deciding to go along with it anyway, Harry pulled himself shakily up the side of the wall to perch on the windowsill. He sat there looking around for any signs of danger, but he found none. The room, the kitchen he noted watching the pots and pans that hung from the ceiling swing in the wind from the open window, was dark and none of the other children were in sight. He shivered from the cold wind hitting his back and took a deep gulp of air before slipping onto the counter beneath him.

So far so good.

He then, slowly and quietly, moved to the edge of the counter and slipped silently off of it, thinking that maybe the game really was over and he was home free. At least he had thought so until his feet hit the ground with a small splash which was quickly flowed by the sound of a bottle rolling across the room's floor. He looked on in horror as the bottle slowly make a 'chink, chink, chink,' sound as it rolled across the uneven wood floor before coming to stop a few feet from the door. The bottle shown a deep brown in the small amount of light filtering in through the open window and Harry froze in terror. The smell of spilt alcohol, Bourbon he noted on the bottle label, filled his nose, burning it with the sour smell.

There was a 'thunk' and a 'crash' from down the hall and Harry closed his eyes in despair, knowing what was coming next and knowing there would be no point in running.

The game was now over; he had lost, like he always did.

* * *

The Next Day: a Sunday

Voldemort's shoes made a soft 'splash' as he walked down the abandoned road. It was still raining, but it had slowed to a steady spray rather than a downpour. Even so, most of the inhabitance of this small corner of London had opted to stay indoors, at least those that had places indoors to go to. Voldemort was feeling the annoying press of time though and felt he needed to find a place for himself sooner rather than later. He could not stay holed up in the bed and breakfast forever; for one thing having to deal with the elderly couple was getting on his nerves. Sure they acted like he didn't exist, thanks to the Imperius curse, but there mere existence aggravated him. They were too well known in the area to kill them, so he just had to move out before he was driven to that point (though maybe he could get away with killing one, he thought. the man, he was old enough to suffer from a 'heart attack' without anyone questioning it).

So instead of killing the owners of his current residence, he set out to find a new one, preferably with residence that would not be missed. That was simple enough in this neighborhood since most people here knew how to mind their own business and keep their heads down. No one would ask when someone or a group of someones' disappeared; after all, it happened at least once a month.

He would have preferred to be moving on to a magical settlement by this point, but the Potter child had complicated things. He had, in developing his latest plan of dealing with the boy, over looked one very crucial component: He would have to live nearby.

Before this he had been planning to move into one of the more rural magical villages, maybe somewhere in Northern England, closer to Scotland. Just outside of Hogsmeade would have been a good option given that it was a decently discreet location while still being a center for news. But now that he had decided to be a force in Potter's life he would have to stay within the area. Staying in the area meant two very crucial things: one it meant having to live in an area where he had sworn he would never return, and two, it meant that he would have to live amongst muggles. And he _hated_ having to deal with muggles.

He could, of course, apparite into the area whenever he felt the desire to influence the boy, and that option had crossed his mind, but then was quickly discarded. There were too many unknowns with the child's life and too many situations that could arise that, should he not be around or be prepared for them, could mean he would lose a valuable opportunity to mold the boy as he saw fit. Appariting in would also be a large waste of time and energy, not to mention that, should someone wish to, they could track him. So, even though he despised it, he knew he had little choice by to stay in London.

But still _muggles_.

And speaking of muggles and there quaint little settlements, it seemed he had finally found one that he might very well be able to use. He looked up at the two story townhouse; squinting a little as rain fell annoyingly close to his eyes, and made out a very large amount of fog clouding up the top bedrooms windows. It wasn't much to go on, but he was confident that this was the kind or residence he was looking for. He moved to inspect the rest of the building.

The townhouse was decent, for the area. It was worn down but not so much as to be condemned, and the small front garden was just overgrown enough to make it obvious that no one had cared for it for a long while. This likely meant that the original owners had either died or abandoned the residence as unsellable and no good years ago.

Voldemort made his way down the spotted and stained cobblestone walk way - mulberry stains, he noted, from a small tree that had started to grow in the side garden and would need to be removed before it got too big and started to cause damage - And made his way around the back. The back garden was in just as much disarray as the front, covered in more weeds then actual plants and with a number of rotting and broken tools and wooden boxes that had most likely been vegetable gardens at some point. They could be easily salvaged, he thought, and used to grow less accessible potions ingredients. There were also seven foot bushes – un-kept and in need of a very good trim – on either ends of the property lines which acted as a sort of fence and ensured a good measure of privacy. The small tool shed that stood in the far left corner of the yard had long since collapsed in on itself and was likely being used by a number of wild creatures by this point.

And speaking of wild creatures, a head made an appearance out of the townhouses back door. It was an ugly kind of head, misshapen with disgusting and greasy looking hair resting upon a very unfortunate looking face which was all connected to an even more unfortunate looking body.

"Oi!" A voice yelled from said ugly face, "watcha' think ya do'en mate! You's trespassing you's are!"

Voldemort turned to look at the muggle; he guessed the man was in his mid-twenties, along with the other faces that were now popping up behind the man. The Dark Lord sneered in disgust, muggles, they just kept _replicating_. It was revolting.

"Do you own this place?" He asked, not bothering to hide his disgust at the other man nor his obvious skepticism that this man was capable of owning anything. The other noticed this and his face turned red in anger.

"What's it to ya ha? Ya ever heard of squatters rights? Place is as good as ours, so I suggest ya be leaven" he threatened as one of his friends passed him a cricket bat. The other men armed themselves similarly, five in total it seemed, unless there were more inside. Voldemort let his wand slip into his hand and the men at the door all started to snigger.

"Watcha' gonna do with that mate? Poke our eyes out!?" The ugly one up front laughed.

"Actually, I was just going to kill you all," Voldemort answered as he casted a quick silencing spell. He doubted anyone would call the cops, not in this area, but better safe than sorry. Screams tended to attract unwanted attention, "Though I do think I prefer your idea." Muggles, he had found, were terrifyingly creative. It was one of the many reasons he distrusted muggles so much, their ability to develop new and creative ways of destroying themselves and others – well, there was no comparison. He lifted his wand and let the spell fly.

High pitched screams of pain filled the air as the leaders hands flew to his face in pain, his eyes liquefying within his skull and pouring down his face. His friends stumbled back in shock and terror before turning their backs and trying to run into the safety of the house.

Voldemort raised his wand again and the four men froze, looks of terror marring their faces. Voldemort took a step forward; the screaming had yet to stop.

'I'm going to need some good mulch anyway' The Dark Lord thought as his wand moved through the air with practiced ease.

* * *

Two Days Later; a Tuesday

Harry made his ways slowly out of Wool's orphanage, trying his best to go undetected. His stomach gurgled in pain and hunger and he did his best to try and 'shush' it. It responded by growling loudly and Harry gave it up for a lost cause. 'At least the sun is out' he thought, it was one of the only good things to have happened, in his opinion, since Saturday.

He had not eaten a single meal since 'the bourbon incident' as he was calling it. Mrs. Palmer had been quick to rush into the room once she had heard one of her bottles rolling and discovered him amongst her spilt liquor. Everyone knew that her alcohol was not to be messed with, ever, and the consequences for doing so were severe. Harry had since been locked in his room and only been let out during meal times, at which point he was forced to sit and watch everyone else eat their food while they sniggered at him. Usually this wouldn't be much of a problem given the normal state of food at the orphanage, but during times when other kids were being punished the food made a marked increase in quality. The children that weren't in trouble loved it (all except the older ones who by that point couldn't care less about the food), but the child that had to suffer through it only had the thought that when they were finally permitted to eat the meals would be back to little more the gruel.

Harry had been suffering through this treatment for three days and knew he would likely suffer through it for another handful. So he was doing the only sensible thing a child in his situation could, he was sneaking out to steal some food.

He walked a good distance from the orphanage into one of the less rundown parts of town before making his way to the nearest corner store. It was one of the less used stores and therefor didn't have security cameras set up yet, the relatively new technology made things like this far more difficult for kids like him so it was easier to avoid them all together. He slowly made his way inside, trying not to show how nervous he really was, before heading to the candy section. The only other customer in the shop, a man in his early forties who was currently paying for his purchase, watched Harry with critical eyes before turning back to the till. The till worker didn't pay him any attention though, so he made his way back, looking quickly through their selection and trying to decide which would be easiest to take.

* * *

The next time Voldemort saw Harry was at the little corner store by his new house. He had been walking by just in time to see the boy slip into the door, doing his best to keep from being noticed. He wasn't doing a very good job of it though. Voldemort sighed as he weighed his options, he could leave the boy to his own devices and deal with him a little later, or he could take advantage of the situation. Though he didn't feel much up to dealing with the boy, given that he was still trying to get his new living quarters into actual living condition (he still had a number of plants to remove from the top room), he knew he shouldn't pass up an opportunity just because it was inconvenient.

He made his way into the corner store just as another man made his way out, looking back suspiciously at Harry as he did so, but quickly turning his mind to his own business. Voldemort had to admit that that was one good thing about this area; for the most part people knew when to keep to themselves.

"What are you doing?" He asked as he walked up behind the boy. Harry apparently hadn't heard him coming because he jumped about a foot, dropping a candy bar to the floor, before turning around to face him.

"Mr. Tom!" he yelled in surprise, "I'm...um...nothing!"

"You're...nothing?" Voldemort asked, unable to resist the temptation of teasing the child, he would have to teach him how to better control his reactions. He raised an eyebrow at him "as great as that is to know, it doesn't answer my question."

Harry shifted awkwardly on his small feet and looked away in shame. It was obvious what the boy had been doing, but Voldemort was getting too much joy from watching the boy squirm to really care.

Harry finally looked up at him with what could really only be described as puppy dog eyes and indicated for him to come closer. "It's just..." Harry whispered, looking around to make sure no one was listening, "it's just, I got in trouble a'cupple of nights ago, so I've not been allowed food since. So I just thought..." He stopped talked and once again looked off in shame.

"You just thought that you might as well sneak out of Wools and steal some instead." Voldemort finished for him and waited for Harry to nod in confirmation. Voldemort smiled bitterly at that, he had had to stoop to such low measures when he had been at Wool's too. He would hate the orphanage more (a hard thing given that he already despised it with all his being) if it wasn't for the fact that this gave him to perfect opportunity to start weaving his way into the boys good graces.

"What about your school? Surly they have been providing you with lunch?" unless the orphanage was no longer forcing the children to attend school, he wouldn't be overly surprised, they had been lenient on education even when he had been living there. Why make the children get an education when they were going to amount to nothing anyway?

Harry just shook his head sadly and looked down "it's the summer half term break Mr. Tom, we don't go back to school 'til Next week."

Well that would certainly explain why there had been so many brats walking around lately.

"I'll make you a deal," He said, looking down at the boy, "you manage to walk out that door with that candy bar and I promise to buy you lunch." No need to make the boy think stealing was bad after all, it was Voldemort's opinion that if people were too stupid to notice then they deserved to be stolen from. It was also a skill that would very likely serve Harry well in the future if he was going to have to spend the rest of his childhood within Wool's, "deal?"

Harry's eyes widened before looking over at the till. The only worker, a teenaged girl, was currently reading some business magazine. She hoped to one day become an independent business owner and millionaire. She would succeed, but only once she started paying attention to what was going on around her. Right now though she wasn't watching the six year old boy or the man in the candy section and missed when the six year old nodded to the older in agreement.

She also missed the child walking out a few minutes later with a Cadbury Chocolate Bar hidden beneath his thin and half tattered shirt.

* * *

Voldemort had hoped lunch would have been a quiet affair, but he had sadly underestimated just how talkative six year olds could be (He had not gotten Harry to shut up since they had left the corner store, and it was only upon ordering there food had he finally shut his trap). He had also made the bad decision of bringing them to the little tea shop he had stopped at before.

"Didja' hear that fat bastard up at the Corrter Cottage up and blood well died this week? The fucker had some kind of fucking heart attack, the poor bastard. It's about blood time though, that rat was always raisin' such a bloody fucking fuss about-" Voldemort winced, he was starting to realize that this women could cuss like a sailor after too much rum, (though given her current state or stumbling around the room and the noise coming from the kitchen as she had worked he would have to assume that she had also had more than a spot of rum herself), which meant that this likely was not the best environment for a six year old boy. Personally the Dark Lord thought cursing (outside of actual curses of course) was bad forum and spoke degrees about the intelligence of a person. The only people he knew that used such foul language were the uneducated scum that he did his best to avoid.

"You do realize that there is a child present, don't you?" He said with a glare at the women. She had just dropped off their meals and had yet to leave. Voldemort counted back from ten, knowing that it would ruin his plan to kill in front of the child.

The women for her part just raised an eyebrow at him then turned her look towards Harry who was already digging into his sandwich like it was the best thing he has ever tasted. She turned back to the Dark Lord with a look of her own (it was not so much a glare as it was a 'you have got to be kidding me' look). "I promise you this _sir_, that boy's heard a lot worse from a lot worse people then me in his life. Half of it has probably been aimed at him too. If he don't learn to ignore the unimportant words in this world then he won't be lasting very long on these blasted streets." And with that she turned away from there table and went to go serve another group that had just walked in.

Voldemort watched her leave with a bit of surprise before turning his attention back to Harry. Harry looked up at him and gave him a large smile, his mouth still full of food. Voldemort sighed and turned to his own meal, taking a hesitant bite before allowing himself to take a larger one.

The women might be a gossip, curse like a sailor, and be far too outspoken for her own good, but her food was exquisite and she still made the most perfect cup of tea the Dark Lord had ever had.

"That's Ms. Gudrun," Harry said, as he took another bite, "she always talks like that, but if you are good and she has a few things left over at the end of the day she will usually let you have them for free."

Ah, so the boy had been listening then, he probably shouldn't reward eavesdropping, but it was a good skill to have, just so long as it wasn't being used against him. "How long have you been living at the orphanage Harry?" He asked, turning back to his meal. If he was going to be here he was going to have some of his questions answered at least.

"Um…" Harry stopped to think and to count out on his hand. "About a year and…eight months?" he said a little unsure, "It will be two years on Halloween." He said the last part bitterly, not the Voldemort blamed him of course.

But this did shed some interesting light on why Dumbledore and his group didn't seem to be watching the boy. It seemed that they _had_ left the child with someone else prior to him arriving at the orphanage. "And where were you before Wool's?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably before taking a bite of his sandwich again, likely to buy himself some time. Voldemort waited though he let his annoyance at the delay show. Finally Harry swallowed and started to talk, avoiding eye contact the whole time. "I was with my aunty and uncle," he said, shifting and looking out the window. He fidgeted with some of his silverware making them clink together in a grating manner. He rubbed angrily at his scar, something he had been doing periodically all afternoon. Voldemort made a mental note of it, and also noted that the scar seemed less agitated then when he had last seen the boy. Harry finally looked back at the table before starting up again.

"My parents died, when I was really little, in a car accident, and so I got left with my aunty. They didn't like me very much though," he said turning his attention to the fork and spoon in his small hands, the sound of them clashing against each other filled the silence for a little bit as Harry seemed to try to compose himself, his distress written clearly across his face. "So – so they sent me to Wool's instead, where I wouldn't be a…bur-den," he pronounced carefully, "to them anymore". The silverware fell silent in his hands and his head fell forward, his mess of hair obscuring his face. The silence was deafening and stifling and Voldemort wondered, briefly, if he should say something.

He didn't though, instead he turned back to his own meal and continued eating, making sure to look away from the child so he could compose himself in some amount of privacy, and started to think. The Potter's didn't have any living relatives, at least not closely related ones. Of course every pure blood family was in some way related, he was certain that if someone had bothered to do so then they would have found that they could have sent the child to any one of the pure blood families. He would likely have ended up with the blacks, which, given that most were currently in prison, would have meant would be presently living with the Malfoys. Voldemort cringed a little, the Malfoys' were loyal and a good breed of witch and wizard but they were absolute crap at raising children. Their kids always ended up a little off in his opinion, but it was far better than those that came from Muggle households.

He knew for a fact that Dumbledore had an odd love for muggles and muggle-borns' though, one that skewed his judgment and made him _very_ biased in their favor. A muggle-born could murder in front of the old coot and get away with it, but a pure-blood couldn't even think of murder without Dumbledore persecuting them and sending them through the shredder.

It should be no surprise then that Dumbledore had opted to send the boy to his muggle relations, as stupid as the choice was. It was obvious by the boy's reaction that they had not been very accepting of their nephew and had likely made his life hell before sending him to Wool's.

'The boy had mentioned that his parents had died in a car crash, I wonder if that was Dumbledore's doing too' He wouldn't be surprised if it was. It could easily have been an attempt to deprive the boy of all things magical so that when he showed up to 'show him the light' so to say, then he would be more likely to accept anything out of the old fool's mouth. Voldemort had to admit that it was a good strategy and would likely have worked if it wasn't for Harry's muggle relatives. Maybe this would be a lesson to Dumbledore on just how trust-worthy muggles really were.

He smiled a thin smile before turning his attention back to Harry, whom, he was surprised to discover, had obviously recovered from his distress and was talking, and had likely been doing so for a long while. Voldemort mentally scolded himself for getting so lost in his own thoughts. Drowning out his surroundings was a habit he had picked up while still at the orphanage and had never fully been able to get rid of. He forced himself to pay attention to what the boy was saying, but quickly regretted it as it became obvious that it was pure drabble.

" – And then there is Justin, he goes to school with me, he's in the same house n' everything but in a different grade. I mean its lots better than the orphanage and Mrs. Palmer doesn't care when we get home so I can walk around and expl-"

"Harry," he cut the boy off, "do not speak with your mouth full." Harry promptly shut his mouth and swallowed before continuing on with his story as if he hadn't been interrupted in the first place. Voldemort had to force himself to keep calm and not curse the boy into next year. How the child could have this much to say he had no idea, how the boy could be this trusting was even more of a mystery. He had been going on like this the whole walk over, and now it seemed like he would be doing the same for the whole meal. It was something he would have at fix about the boy sooner rather than later if he wanted to ensure his own secrecy.

"You enjoy school then?" Voldemort asked, cutting into the boys rant just to try and get him to stay on one topic for more than three seconds. It wasn't the best topic, but he had to admit he was a little shocked that they boy talked so fondly of his schooling, it made his a bit curious as to why. His own experience with muggle schooling had left much to be desired, though thinking back on it he did suppose that he liked it better than the orphanage.

"Ya!" Harry answered enthusiastically but then quickly scrunched up his nose for a childish look of hate "except the other students, there not really nice, especially this girl Maggie in the girls school across the way, she's always mean to me and she gets everyone else to be mean to me and it's not very nice. Her brother is in my class too, there twins, and he is just as mean. He's in my house too and now everyone in my house doesn't like me either." He got thoughtful for a moment "but the teachers are nice and I am really good at reading and history! Mr. Clayworth says I can be really smart when I try." He smiled and Voldemort raised an eye brow at him. His own experiences with muggle teacher had also been...varied.

"Oh!" Harry quickly said as if realizing he had forgotten something very important. He jumped up a bit so he was leaning across the table and cupped his hand to his mouth. "But no one there knows I live at Wool's 'sept for the teachers so shhhhh! You can't tell people!"

Voldemort looked down at him in surprise, "how did you manage that?" He asked, because he had tried to pull that off when he was in school with no success. It had been obvious back then who was from Wool's and who wasn't, if anything the state of your uniform gave it away, had things changed that much?

Harry just shrugged and played with what was left of his food, "no one from Wool's wants any of the other kids to know I go there, because everyone thinks that if they hang out with me my 'freakishness' will rub off on them. So they pretend I don't go there and I don't tell anyone and so no one knows. Only the adults know but they don't talk about it either." Harry got silent for a moment, his face shifting quickly from a look of happiness to outright sadness, "it doesn't really matter anyway I guess, no one wants to be my friend anyway, no matter if they think I live a Wool's or not."

Voldemort felt a slight ping in his chest at the boy's words, though for what reason he couldn't tell. He watched the child for a long minute in silence before turning back to his own food; he wasn't sure what to do with this new information, or even what to think of it. It didn't change anything of course, but he couldn't push aside the feeling that was building in his chest the he couldn't name.

Harry started talking again after a few more moments, but this time the Dark Lord just let it wash over him without actually listening, for some reason he felt too exhausted to even try.

* * *

It was a little after three when they finally left the tea shop. Ms. Gudrun waited at the door, holding it open for them as they moved to leave. She bent down and handed harry a small bag "now ya run off before you get your sorry ass in more trouble, and don't you show that to any of those other fuckers when you get back okay?" Harry took her gift with a smile and a nod before running through the door, Voldemort moved to follow him when Ms. Gudrun moved into the door way, blocking his exit. He glared at her, ready to forcefully move her out of the way when she started talking.

"You listen to me, and you listen to me good." She said staring him right in the eyes, and for the first time he actually registered her size. He was not a short man but she held a good two inches on him and probably an extra hundred pound. Of course size meant little when you had magic, but as far as raw intimidation went, girth went a long way, "I know what people have likely been tellen ya' or will be tellen ya soon, and I'll say this, if you are gonna care for that boy then you better bloody well do it, if not then you might as will just fuck off." She leaned in, forcing him to take a step back "we've had too many screw ups round here, we don't need another." It was left unsaid weather or not she was talking about him or Harry. Looking back on it, she was probably talking about both.

He met Harry out of the street and they made their way back to the orphanage, Harry had since run out of things to say and instead an odd kind of silence flowed between them. It wasn't a comfortable silence it was more of a silence where neither really knew what else was left to say to the other. Harry didn't seem to mind it too much, Voldemort noted, as he walked beside him with a smile while lightly humming some tune he did not recognize. Perhaps that meant that the silence was just uncomfortable to him.

His throat itched like there was something stuck in the back of it, but he was sure there was nothing there.

They walked for another five minutes before Voldemort left Harry at one of the holes in the far side of the wall into the orphanage, Harry turned back for a second to wave before disappearing inside, being careful not to be spotted. The Dark Lord didn't bother to wave back and instead turned around had made his way home.

There was a lot he had left to do, but he suddenly didn't feel like doing any of it. The whole day played over in his head again and again, especially Ms. Gudrun final words to him. They left him unsettled in a way that he had never been before and he couldn't make heads or tails of it. He let the problem dance around in his head until he finally made it home, though he still could find no clarity in his thoughts.

He unlocked his front door and slipped inside, Whatever it was, he knew he couldn't be bothered with it, after all they were just inane drabble from an old muggle women. He pushed them to the back of his mind and forced himself to forget them; he had work to get done.

If Voldemort had known the feeling then he would have known exactly why Ms. Gudrun's words had affected him so much. He would have known what the ping and tightness in his chest meant and he would have realized what the sensation in his throat meant. Had he known, he would have been able to label the feeling, very simply, as guilt.

* * *

Thank you everyone who reviewed, I feel I should clarify something though; if you think this story is going to be about Harry's development then you are only half right. The main focus of this story should, hopefully, be clear now, or if not now than in the next couple of chapters.

Either way, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. and if anyone is interested, the song Primavera by Ludovico Einaudi is a strong inspiration for this story, i highly recommend taking a listen.

TheSeaAtNight


	4. Sticks and Stones

Chapter 3: Sticks and Stones

Two months later: a Saturday

Something important had shifted. It was the kind of shift where you knew something very important had just taken place; you just weren't sure what yet. All that you knew was that it had happened and that it was just the start. Like the first bout of queasiness that hit you right before an earthquake, where, for those few moments, you wondered if you had just eaten some really bad sushi.

Then the ground would shake and you would be thrown from your feet unexpectedly. Suddenly you would know that the world was moving beneath you and if you had had some better warning you might have been able to prepare for it.

Voldemort was at the point where he was just starting to feel ill without really understanding what was causing it.

The shift was a basic one, as most of these things go. Simply put; people had started to notice him.

"You're that bloke who's been spending time with the freaky kid right?" His latest assailant asked him as he proceeded to slide the groceries across the scanner. The teenager pressed some buttons on the till which made an obnoxious 'beep beep' with every finger tap. He blew a large bubble with the gum he had been chewing on.

Voldemort's eye twitched and he ground his teeth together.

It always started like this, usually at the tills or at a restaurant when he could no longer ignore the fact that he needed food (and recently he had needed more than he remembered needing since Hogwarts. He knew that it was due to his still recovering magical reserves, but that didn't make it any less aggravating to have to deal with). His server or attendant would ask him, in no discreet way, if he was the one spending time with the 'freak child'. Some of them would use Harry's name, if they knew it, though most didn't bother to extend that courtesy. It drove him to the brink of killing every single last one of them, but they were smart, damn them, and only approached him in crowded areas, such as the market he was currently at.

For a place where people were supposed to be good at minding their own business they were obnoxiously curious about new people moving into the area, especially when they did something unexpected. He had hoped that the novelty would have worn off by now, but that seemed to have been a lofty wish. People just didn't _move_ into this area, he was the first in a long time and it seemed he would be the last for an even larger amount. Add that to the fact that he was spending time with Harry, a child that was ostracized from the community; it was a recipe of gossip. He should have realized this long before he had even decided on this course of action, and he was severely regretting his lack of foresight now.

He supposed he should just be thankful that he had yet to have any of the less _innocent _questions thrown at him. He knew those thoughts would probably pop into these people's minds sooner rather than later, and it wasn't something he was looking forward to in the least.

"I don't see how that is _any_ of your business," he ground out with a glare, but the till worker wasn't looking at him, he was focusing instead on running the eggs over the scanner one too many times.

This was Ms. Gudrun's fault, somehow, he just knew it.

"Ya, what eves' just thought ya' might want ta' know, that kids a weird one. Bad luck. I would avoid him if I was you, he's no good really."

It was the same every. Single. Time. And he couldn't _stand _it. These _muggles _acted like they knew better than him, like they had any _right _to tell him what he should or should not do.

His eyes flashed red.

He closed them tightly and breathed out slowly while counting backward for ten and then doing so again. He had to remind himself that he had self-control. He hadn't had to practice it in a long time – war gave you ample opportunity to take out your anger on others – but it existed.

Somewhere.

He just had to remember where. The muggles weren't making it any easier and they were all pushing him to the last of his restraints.

Oh, how he wanted to kill one, just one, to get it out of his system.

He wasn't senseless though, he knew that one would become two quick enough and two would lead to more until people started to notice. If he gave in just once to this anger it would be difficult to stop. He was aware that when he killed out of anger and madness he tended to lose control of himself; it was something he had had to come to terms with long ago. It hadn't been an issue during the war, but before that he had had to control his murderous urges. Killing because it benefited you was one thing, but killing just to kill was another monster entirely. Killing was like a demented drug to him, as much as he hated to admit that. It was a way for him to relieve pent up stress, but once he started he found it almost impossible to stop. It was a weakness just as much as strength.

His eyes caught those of the till workers and the young man paled in fright, "I said it is _none of your business_ what I do with my time and who I decide to associate with. It is _none _of your or anyone else in this God forsaken little corner of _Hell's_ business do you understand me?" The teenager nodded quickly, trying desperately to pull his gaze away but found he was unable to control his body. "Good, and should you dare to try and give me advice on how to live my life again, I will personally cut out your tongue."

His hand itched to pull out his wand and massacre the man along with every other person in the market, most of which he _knew_ were trying to pretend that they weren't watching. Instead he turned and marched out of the store, forgetting about his purchase in the process.

He hadn't felt this far out of control in a long time and he was starting to remember why he hated that feeling in the first place.

* * *

Something in Harry's life had shifted too, and not in a good way as one would expect. Instead he was facing ridicule that he had never had to face before. He had gotten so used to people calling him a 'freak' and 'useless' that those didn't really bother him anymore, but the things people said now played with his own fears and doubts. He was finding it difficult to ignore the words being thrown at him.

_"Why would anyone want to spend time with you?"_

Ms. Gudrun said they were just jealous and not to let it get to him (in far more colorful words of course), and Harry knew she was probably right, she was usually right about these things, but knowing that didn't make it better, didn't make the words go away. People, no matter the age, turn into monsters when jealousy takes hold. The brutality that was only hinted at would come out full force to tear down those around them.

_"You can't really think he's going to adopt you, No one's ever going to adopt you!"_

The physical blows Harry could handle, it was the non-physical that caused him the most pain. He tried to ignore the words like he did before, but he couldn't help thinking, over and over again 'what if they are right?'

_"Bet he doesn't even like you, bet he just keeps you round because you won't go away."_

Harry closed his eyes tightly and thought to himself 'there just unimportant words, just like Ms. Gudrun always says'. They didn't mean anything, they were just words said because the other kids were jealous.

_"Who would ever want a thing like you?"_

He just wished it didn't hurt so much.

"There he is!" he heard from behind him and his eyes flew back open, he had thought he had lost the other boys at the last corner, but he had obviously been wrong. He quickly turned forward again and ran. He could hear the other boys following after him and the angry yells from adults as they rushed around their legs.

He needed to find a hiding place or they were going to catch up with him. Maybe he could duck into one of the stores? The last time he had tried that it hadn't turned out too well, with the owner kicking him back out into the street where the other boys had been waiting. Maybe this time would be different, maybe if he chose the right store –

As he turned the next corner he realized, happy, that he wouldn't have to risk that. A familiar figure in a simple black suit came into view and Harry smiled, the other boys wouldn't chase after him now he knew. He might even be able to enjoy his first day of summer break.

"Mr. Tom!" he yelled as he ran to catch up with the man.

* * *

He was half way back to his house – another situation that he did not want to think about right now – when a voice called to him from across the road.

He let out a heavy sigh, though he was ashamed to discover that it had less to do with his agitation and more to do the feeling of relief that washed over him. His whole trip to the market and now home had been plagued with muggles trying to pretend they weren't watching him. They watched him from the corner of their eyes trying to figure out if he was insane or not, because only someone insane would ever take a 'freak' like Harry into their care. He had yet to figure out how to get them to leave him alone, short of a disillusionment charm or mass murder, other than to keep Harry around. For whatever reason – be it courtesy or some kind of fear (which begged the question as to why they feared a child but not him, because the worst Harry had done, as far as he knew, was disappear and reappear on a roof). So the spike of relief at hearing Harry's voice calling him shouldn't have been a surprise, in fact it was a common occurrence by this point, but he still left him feeling annoyed with his own lack of control over the situation. He should not have to depend on a child for any kind of defense.

"Mr. Tom!" Harry called again as he quickly ran across the road, making sure to check for cars before doing so.

"You are going to get yourself killed by doing that." Voldemort reprimanded him as he continued walking, though he slowed his stride so that Harry could easily keep up. In the last two months he had figured out the exact pace he needed to have in order for Harry to not have to jog beside him. That bugged him too, because why should he care if the boy could keep up or not?

"I checked this time, just like you said!" Harry insisted before looking across the street again. Voldemort followed his gaze, only to see a group of boys watching them from across the way; Voldemort recognized them as some of the other orphans at Wool's. Justin, David, James, Henry, and Douglas his mind provided without his consent, sometime he hated having the memory he did. It wasn't like he actually cared who the other boys were, but Harry had slowly pointed them out to him during their time spent together and so now their names were forever stuck in his head.

Harry shifted closer to him and tried to hide his tiny forum from the other boy's sight.

It would seem then that he wasn't the only one who was relieved to find the other then. He had noticed that Harry tended to use him just as much for company as he did for protection. They were even in that sense at least, but he still didn't appreciate having to act as the boy's shield. Not that anyone had tried to confront either of them while the other was around, but it was the point of the matter. That the child honestly thought that he would protect him was laughable, or it would be if that wasn't exactly what he wanted from the boy. It meant that Harry trusted him, which would make killing him that much easier.

He frowned at the sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, it was becoming such a common occurrence and he had to wonder if he had caught some kind of disease from these degusting creatures.

They walked in silence for a long while, with no real destination in mind. Voldemort had planned on returning to his house, but he was finding lately that he didn't want to return to that little corner of damnation. Even the thought or returning there left him feeling agitated and made his skin crawl. Besides, he reminded himself, he didn't want Harry to know where he lived because there was a very good chance that the boy would follow him home and never leave.

It was as good an excuse as any.

Their aimless wandering brought them to a small residential park, the same park they always seemed to end up at, at some point or another.

The little run down park was about three blocks from his house and ten blocks from Wool's, the residence who lived around the park were, for the most part, older couples and so, during the day, the park was almost always completely abandoned. (Night was a whole different matter, at which point the playground turned into more of a black market then a place for kids). Harry would usually run off to play on the swings or on the slide and leave Voldemort to sit on one of the few still intact benches to make sure the kid didn't break an arm. He didn't see why he had to accompany the boy to the park when he could very well take care of himself, but Harry insisted that he couldn't stay there if he was on his own and that it was too far from Wool's to walk by himself. So the Dark Lord had merely sighed and taken to carrying around a newspaper or book to occupy his mind while Harry played.

He sat down at his regular bench as Harry ran off for the swings. He never realized how young Harry was until he brought him here. The boy did his best to act older, a defense mechanism that everyone growing up at Wool's learned, but his childishness came out when he was at this park. He waved at Voldemort from the swings as he started to climb into the air in a dissonant kind of movement. He still didn't know how to move his legs properly to get the swing to go how he wanted.

The Dark Lord had to admit that it had been ridiculously funny to realize that Harry had no idea how to work a swing the first time they had found themselves at this park. The boy had tried desperately to get the swing moving while wiggling both feet back and forth against each other. When that had failed he had tried to push the swing into motion and then jump on it, which had left him, more often than not, face down in the dirt. Eventually the Dark Lord had taken pity on the child and yelled across to him that he needed to move both feet at once, something that the boy was still getting used to.

It was a stark reminder that the child had never actually had the opportunity to play on a playground. Wool's didn't have one within a close enough walking distance that most of the younger kids were willing to risk, and he had informed Voldemort that the kids at school didn't let him get anywhere near the playground equipment. Instead he took the time to sit and draw in the sand until one of the other kids would run over to destroy it.

Voldemort watched Harry as he laughed and smiled on the swing before jumping off the go on the slide. The child's voice was one of the only sounds to fill the air, besides the occasional motorcar driving by. It made Harry's laughter seem odd, like it didn't belong in this place. It felt like the only thing that should fill the air in this place was silence, like that of a black and white film.

Sounds of joy did not belong in a place like this. 'There aren't even birds to fill the air with noise, not even the disgusting rat like ones' He noted, looking around at some of the sickly looking trees that were scattered around the area. Nor were there any signs of life outside of the humans that lived there, it reminded him of something he learned a long time ago: animals could sense when disasters were about to happen long before humans could and as a result they could be seen fleeing an area long before anyone else did.

He wondered what it said about the area that not even stray animals or pigeons would dare live there.

'That muggles are stupid enough to live where nothing else will, even the plants look like they don't want to be here.'

Then he wondered what it said about him, since he was voluntarily staying there too.

It wasn't something he wanted to think about.

Thankfully he didn't have to, as Harry decided at that moment to run up and sit next to him on the bench, his legs swinging back and forth under him. "So you can do that properly here, but you can't get it right on the swing?" Voldemort asked, indicating to the child legs that were now moving in time with each other. Harry looked down and blushed a little in embarrassment.

"It's harder when you're moving," he insisted to which the Dark Lord conceded that he likely had a point. He had never had the opportunity to try a swing, he merely knew how they were technically supposed to work, so in this he supposed Harry now knew more than he did.

"Have you eaten today Harry?" It would be a little after one soon, and even he was starting to feel his hunger. He was regretting having forgotten his groceries at the till now. It had been a needless show of emotion, and though he had nothing against emotional displays when they could be used as a means to an end, they annoyed him when they served no obvious purpose. It annoyed him even more that it had been him performing the act, he knew he should have more control but lately it felt like that was in short supply.

"Ya," Harry answered, but by the scrunched up look on his face Voldemort doubted that whatever he had eaten could be described as anything close to food.

"Well it is past lunch time and I am in need of something to eat, feel free to join me if you wish. If not then I will, likely, see you later." He said as he stood up. Harry was quick to follow which, thankfully, meant that no one would bug him while they ate.

They made their way in silence, which by this point wasn't uncommon for them while walking, but Voldemort could tell that something was different about this silence. He looked over at Harry who seemed to be thinking heavily to himself. His lower lip was slowly being worried between his teeth which usually meant he was debating whether or not to do something.

It was the same look he had had before trying the swings for the first time.

Voldemort wondered if he should just ask the boy what was wrong before deciding against the idea, whatever it was the child would likely ask him sooner or later, so there was no point in rushing the talk.

They made it to a little Indian restaurant where they had made an appearance twice before. Voldemort, for his part, enjoyed spicy curries, and he had found that this place made the best in the immediate area.

Harry wasn't one for spicy food and had opted to order chicken tenders off the kids menu.

Lunch proceeded in a quiet manner which worried the Dark Lord more then he knew it should. Harry had a habit of filling the silence while they ate with silly stories and tales from school along with a number of random and unimportant facts that he had recently learned. It was something Voldemort had originally tried to break the boy from, but had quickly decided to focus on the child atrocious table manners instead. So, as a consequence, there meals were usually filled with noise.

It worried him now that this had changed. Voldemort liked things to be predictable and constant, something that he found happening less and less often lately. Harry and been one of the few forces in his current life that had been predictable (except for their meetings, which had become so unpredictably predictable that he just assumed it was more likely to happen then not). The fact that this had changed made him nervous, like somehow the ground had shifted beneath his feet and he wasn't too sure where he stood any more. He found himself needing to break the silence between them.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, maybe the boy was coming down with something, maybe he had given it to him, it would explain the uneasiness in his own stomach at least.

Harry looked up at him like a raccoon caught in headlights, not knowing whether to run of stay still. "Nu-uh- I mean 'no'" Harry quickly corrected. Silence fell again and this time Voldemort was all but ready to tear into the boys mind to find out what was bothering him.

He, thankfully, didn't have to resort to such measures as Harry seemed to finally find the courage to talk about whatever was bothering him.

"We're on summer break now." Harry started, which was redundant because Voldemort already knew that, the child had been mentioning it non-stop for weeks. "So we don't have to be in school most of the day anymore," which was, once again, redundant but Voldemort allowed the boy to continue without a lecture because, for whatever reason, this honestly seemed important to the boy. "Which means I don't have anything to do all day Friday, and um..." He stopped, finally looking up at the Dark Lord as if the rest of the sentence was obvious.

Which Voldemort supposed it was, but since when had the boy actually asked his permission to spend time with him? "And?" The Dark Lord prompted, knowing that there had to be more to this request then he was comprehending.

Harry chewed at his bottom lip again before finally answering, "it's just...it's gonna be my birthday, I'm turning seven and all, and I just thought maybe, if you're not busy, that I could hang out with you that day?"

Harry looked up at him with pleading eyes, but Voldemort's thoughts were elsewhere. It was almost the child's birthday? It was almost the end of July!? How had he not felt the passing of so much time? Subconsciously he knew that the days had come and gone in their proper order, but somehow he hadn't registered it.

There was so much he still had to get done! What has he been doing these last three months?!

The ground shifted beneath him again, and now he could no longer tell if he was standing or falling.

"- I mean, I know you must be busy, or work or something so it's not important-" Harry was stammering out now and Voldemort quickly came back to his senses.

"Alright," he conceded before he even registered what he had said, which only made him feel more off balance. There were other things he needed to get done, especially now that he realized how long he had been putting them off for. He shouldn't be spending time with the child's on his birthday when there were more important matters to attend to.

The look on Harry's face when he agreed was ecstatic though, and Voldemort realized that, for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to go back on his word. Harry's joy was obvious and he quickly expressed it by jumping into a number of stories about some of the other kids birthday celebrations at school.

As upset as Voldemort was that he had agreed to the kids offer, he was also relieved to have the chatter back. At least one thing was back to its proper order, because the rest of his life seemed to be falling into shambles around him.

* * *

Most people, when they picture a Dark Lords home, would picture something dark and sinister, like a castle that seemed to continuously have a thunderstorm raging above it, or perhaps a decrepit mansion half rotting with weeds covering the front lawn.

At the very least it was expected to be black.

Lord Voldemort's current residence - which he had commandeered from the previous tenants who were now resting pleasantly in the back garden - was none of these things. It was actually a quaint little two story, three bedroom two and a half bathroom white-wash house with a patched red roof. It was run down with age and neglect but with a little bit of work and a touch of magic it looked decently new. The front yard was nice and tidy and anyone seeing it for the first time would assume the person that cared for it had some kind of obsessive compulsive disorder.

A large bay window looked on into the living room from the street. This had been charmed to show the same image anytime anyone tried to look in. The scene was a lovely little living room with a small couch, two arm chairs, and a brightly polished coffee table all set in front of a beautiful fireplace. It looked inviting and warm and like something out of a home and gardens magazine. In fact the exact image could be found in the latest issue of H&G, though no one in this part of London read stuff like that if they even capable of reading anything at all

Over all it looked like a lovely house to live in and raise a family if one ignored the fact that I was located in the worst borough in London.

In truth the only things that let on that the Dark Lord Voldemort lived in the house were the extensive wards around the property and the little copper door knocker that was designed to look like a snake. It was a beautifully crafted piece of work that had the added bonus of biting any solicitors that took it into their head to come around.

It was here that the Dark Lord returned when he left Harry back at the orphanage. It was a number of blocks away from Wool's, which, though technically convenient, was currently unpleasant to the Dark Lord. He had no wish to be at this place, especially now that he was keenly aware of the passage of time.

"Get out of my way" he hissed at the door knocker and the door quickly opened for him. As far as passwords went it was pretty strait forward.

The inside of the house didn't really scream 'Dark Lord' any more than the outside had. The walls were still that egg-shell white of every house that had had owners too lazy the paint. Most of the floors had carpets which were, for the most part, that speckled brownish color that was also all too common in these houses. Those that didn't have carpet were covered in a light wood that really wasn't wood at all but some plastic contraption that was likely made in Taiwan. The stairs were the only real exceptions to this, where a beautiful forest green rug lead the way upstairs. The carpet had been a deep red (though stained and in tatters) when the Dark Lord had taken over the place, but he had been quick to fix that, along with all the other damage and filth that the last muggle inhabitance had left behind.

It was about the only thing he had done to the house by this point.

Voldemort made his way into the white hallway that led to the rest of the house. He turned to the right and entered the egg-shell white and plastic-wood-floor living room. The windows could potentially let in a lot of natural light but clouds had started to roll in and they ensured that this didn't happen. Instead most of the light filling the room came from the small fireplace where a charmed fire was burning happily.

Voldemort sat himself down in the armchair by the fire and thought that maybe he should think about getting a couch. Given that the armchair and a half empty bookshelf were the only things in the living room at that moment it was probably not a bad thought.

'I should probably also get some books' he added, and that was a problem, the whole thing was a problem, because at the end of the day he knew, deep down, that he would not be getting more books.

He had been procrastinating; he knew he was even now. He just didn't know why. He was usually so efficient with his time and energy, getting things done at a sensible and precise manner, but now...now it seemed almost impossible for him to complete even one task on his list, and the list just seemed to be getting longer and longer as the days went on.

He looked around his desolate living room knowing that the upstairs was similarly furnished. His bedroom consisted of one dresser that only had one drawer a quarter full of clothing and a closet that consisted of two simple back robes that he had bought on his original trip to Ubique Alley. He knew he should go out and get a proper wardrobe, not just the simple black and white suites he had, it was on his list, his list that kept expanding and expanding and never shortening.

His bed was the same that had originally been in the room, a sad looking cast iron thing that had lacked a mattress originally. He had purchased one quickly enough because contrary to popular belief he did need to sleep at some point or another (though it was usually only in the early hours of the morning after having been up for nearly two days in a row).

The only room that was anywhere close to being completed was the second bedroom upstairs which he had converted into a potions laboratory.

If frustrated him to no end to realize that he was even putting off such mundane tasks. He was better than this, he knew he was. If he had been on top of things, like he normally was, then this place would have been fully furnished and functional _months _ago, but here it stood, looking little better than it had when he had first found the place.

So why was it so difficult? Maybe it had something to do with his resurrection? A side effect maybe? It was possible.

And then there was the situation with the boy. He had spent more time with the child these last two months then he had ever intended to, and not because he wanted to. The boy seemed to be able to find him anywhere no matter how much he tried to avoid him. He had seen him at least twice a week in the last few months, and with summer break starting he was honestly worried that that time would increase.

And now he had agreed to spend the child birthday with him.

There was so much he could be getting done, should have been getting done this whole time. Instead he had just put off for the sake of what? Spending time with a child? What was _wrong_ with him?

The sad part the whole situation was that it didn't even cross him mind while he was with the boy, it wasn't until he was walking back to his house that he would realize what a waste of time it had all been.

It wasn't so much seeing the child that upset him, it was the exact opposite in fact, and he found himself honestly enjoying the kids company. Once they got past the insentient talking, having the boy around was almost calming in an odd sort of way.

He tried to justify it by telling himself that he was learning important things about the child, but that was too blatant of a lie for even him to convince himself of. Not one thing he had learn from the boy in the last two months had brought him any closer to understanding how the boy had survived the killing curse or anything about that scar on the child's head (which still hurt the boy though Harry insisted that it wasn't so bad and had been getting better rather than worse.)

The truth of the matter was this: spending time with Harry gave the illusion of productivity, kind of like buying office supplies or potions ingredients with the intent to use them at some point, though you knew you never would. And that was exactly what this situation was, an illusion, because he wasn't learning anything different from spending time the child.

And that worried him. He should hate the child, he _needed _to kill the child, which was something, he was coming to realize, he had been putting off too.

He gave into his frustration and pulled at his hair, this would not do, at all; he needed to do something, anything. His control of this whole situation seemed to be crumbling beneath his feet and he couldn't figure out why, it was almost like he own mind was rebelling against his own plans, like he subconsciously didn't _want_ to complete his work here. He needed to get things _done_! He needed to finish this house, he needed to actually study the child, not just talk to him, and he needed to figure out how to kill the boy!

It was upsetting how often he had to remind himself of that fact.

* * *

Three days later; a Tuesday.

He had bought a ball. It was color changing and un-breakable and he had actually walked into a store and bought it.

In the last three days he had come no closer to finishing anything, nor was he any closer to understanding why. It was frustrating him to no end. Add that to the muggles current opinion of him, which had at some point this week (likely due to his outbreak at the grocers) shifted from 'he's just new and doesn't understand' to 'he has to be insane, maybe even worse then the child' was driving him up the wall. It didn't help that he was starting to wonder the same thing about himself, surly there must be something wrong with his mind for him to be acting so off?

He had decided then to go, for the first time since he had been resurrected, to Diagon Ally. He had hoped that being amongst his own kind, in a familiar place (a place that even for him held such great and wonderful memories) would bring him back to himself. That somehow the magic that permeated through the air would bring him the answers he needed.

Instead he had found himself walking through the streets (and no one was looking twice at him, no one was paying him any notice, no one here thought he was crazy! And oh, wasn't that just a wonderful feeling), without any real idea of what he was doing there. He felt like a stranger in this place, like he was somehow not meant to be there, like it was all a big farce. And it was; he was upset to realize. None of these people knew him as the Dark Lord, and as much as he appreciated not being noticed for a change, it somehow made him feel like he wasn't himself here either, like he was still only 'Mr. Tom', a personality that he was quickly coming to hate. Voldemort held power and fear, so much so that people were still terrified to mention his name. 'Mr. Tom', he was coming to realize, was just a man who couldn't even get muggles to leave him alone, who couldn't bring himself to kill a single weak little child.

He had hoped Diagon Alley would be an escape, but it was only a different kind of prison.

He had walked around for a short while; upset at himself, with Diagon Alley, with all the stupid muggles that couldn't mind their own business, until a little toy shop had caught his eyes.

The sight of the store had very suddenly forced an annoying realization into his mind, and he very quickly knew that his whole reason for coming here wasn't just some misguided attempt to remind himself that those muggles were wrong, to prove to himself that he was still the Dark Lord, because of that had been the case he would never have chosen to come to a place like Diagon Alley. The real reason he had come here was simpler and far more idiotic then that. It was because Harry's birthday was on Friday, and whether he had wanted to admit it to himself before or not was irrelevant. The truth of the matter was that 'Mr. Tom' had come to Diagon Alley to get Harry a gift.

He could have been anyone when he had stepped foot through that hidden wall, he could have used a Polyjuice potion or any number of spells to become anyone he wanted to be. Had he really wanted to be Lord Voldemort again, as stupid as it would have been, he could have in a heartbeat.

But instead he had walked into Diagon Ally as Mr. Tom without so much as contemplating changing his appearance. Thinking about it now he was horrified to realize that he no longer associated this face with his presence as a Dark Lord, but rather as someone purely associated with a boy named Harry Potter. This face belonged to Mr. Tom, not Voldemort.

And as Mr. Tom he had decided to walk into the little magical toy shop, nod at the smiling attendant, and purchases a small bouncy ball for the child he looked after.

These realizations scared him, because what did this say about his state of mind?

He tried to justify the purchase in his own head but he was finding it difficult. He would like to think that he had gotten it as a means of furthering his plan, but he wasn't in the habit of lying to himself. The sad truth of the matter was simply this: He had bought it purely as a way to give the boy something to make his existence a little more tolerable, because it was something that Mr. Tom would do. But 'Mr. Tom' was a lie an image that he, the Dark Lord Voldemort, had created to get close to the boy. And as the Dark Lord he should not want to make another person's existence better.

Mr. Tom did not exist, he was just a mask, a mask that the Dark Lord should be able to slough off at a moments notice. It should not be affecting his thoughts and decisions like this.

His stomach lurched and he felt like he was losing his balance.

The whole thing sounded like a situation out of some muggle psychology book and he didn't like the implications one bit. Was this perhaps another side effect of breaking his soul into pieces? The piece from the diary had been young and inexperienced with the world, that piece had never really even been the Dark Lord Voldemort; in fact he had just started to go by that name. Maybe the piece of his mind that was associating with the 'Mr. Tom' personality was the piece that had come from that younger piece of soul, a piece that, given when it had been created, could very easily be sympathizing with Harry's current situation.

If this was true then it suddenly made sense why he was having such a hard time dealing with the child and why he was having such a hard time restraining himself around the muggles he was forced to interact with. Those exact words that so many of them used when talking about Harry had been directed at him fifty years ago. It would also explain why he was finding it so difficult to make any progress in killing the boy, it had to be because Harry reminded him too much of himself. It was like trying to think about killing his younger self, and that was something that he would never be able to do.

He frowned deeply as he made his way back to his house, opting to walk the long distance rather than apparite. This had to be the fault of that little corner of hell; it pulled long forgotten memories from the depths of his mind, ones that were better of buried and burned. The town was not only making him relive his childhood through his memories, but also bringing them back to life with every interaction he had with Harry.

But now that he had an idea as to why his interactions with the boy affected him so much he could very well find a way of moving past them. Maybe then he would be able to find his footing again and somehow grasp his slipping control. There were still a lot of problems that he needed to consider, but now that he had an idea of what the problem was he could move forward to address it and all the other issues that have slowly been chipping away at him.

He would start by slowly dismantling this 'Mr. Tom' persona and reminding himself that he was still a Dark Lord, and one of the most powerful ones Britain had seen in ages.

He smiled to himself, feeling like he was finally making some progress, before frowning again and looking down at the bag he was currently carrying. He shouldn't have bought the blasted ball, but there was nothing for it now. He had already, stupidly, spent the money so he might as well see it through. Besides, his frown deepened; he still had to stay in the boy's good graces if he wanted to figure out how to kill him.

He felt ill at the thought, but at least now he had an idea why.

* * *

Three days later, Harry's Birthday: A Friday

Harry had done his absolute best to stay out of trouble this week. He made sure to stay out of the way of all the other kids and Mrs. Palmer, opting instead to stay in his room most to the day, it was safer there. He knew he couldn't afford to get in trouble now, because what if Mrs. Palmer decided to lock him in his room on Friday? He would miss his chance to actually do something on his birthday.

All his past birthdays, as far as he could remember, had been looked over as if they never happened. One day he was one age and the next he was another but that was it. He knew the birthdays were something that were celebrated though, because his cousin used to have big parties for his. the only reason he even knew when his own birthday was was because his cousin would tease him about the fact that he wasn't important enough to have a party. After all, who would want to celebrate the birth of a freak?

'Mr. Tom does,' Harry reminded himself happily as he watched people move around outside his window in the early morning light. The other kids hadn't stopped their hurtful words, but Harry found it easier to ignore this week because Mr. Tom had agreed to spend time with him, he had agreed to actually meet with him and on his birthday too.

Harry didn't know when Mr. Tom would show up, but he had woken up early and kept an eye outside just to make sure he didn't miss him.

* * *

Voldemort, for his part, spent the rest of the week trying to figure out what had gone wrong with his resurrection, because that was the only explanation that made any sense for his current actions and thoughts. He had gone through a number of diagnostic spells, looking for any physical problems (there were none), Mental problems (Sociopathic with murderous tendencies, but those had always been true, there were no signs of a developing split personality disorder or anything else that could explain his current predicament), and lastly any damage to his soul. That one was a little bit more difficult to interpret given that his soul was literally in tatters, but the two pieces that he had merged together to forum this new body seemed to have successfully fused. He could find no place where The Dark Lord Voldemort' ended and the school boy 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' started.

None of these results brought him any closer to a solution, or really even an answer to what the problem _was_. As the week moved and Harry's birthday rolled around he found himself no closer to a solution then he had been the last time he had seen the boy.

He sighed and did his best to mentally prepare himself to meet Harry for the day, though he somehow knew that this day could only end badly.

* * *

Mr. Tom showed up around eleven and Harry ran down stairs the moment he saw him coming down the street. He took the stairs two at a time, nearly running into one of the older orphans, before barreling outside.

"Mr. Tom!" He yelled as he ran up to the man that had just arrived at the gate.

"Harry, what have I told you about running like that?" He asked as Harry come to a stop in front of him.

"Um- that I am going to trip and fall if I'm not careful and that I 'need to learn how to compose myself better'" he quoted and smiled up at him, "I'm sorry, I'll remember next time."

"I highly doubt that." Mr. Tom answered before shifting a little and holding a paper bag out to Harry. It was brown and it kind of reminded Harry of the lunch bags that the other kids brought to school sometimes, except that it was bigger. Harry looked at it skeptically before giving Mr. Tom a quizitive look.

"What is it?"

"It's a birthday present, that's what people do on other people's birthdays, they give presents." Mr. Tom answered, and though he said it like it was obvious Harry thought he looked a bit unsure of himself, like he wasn't really sure if people actually gave gifts on each other's birthdays or if it was just something the people on the tally made up.

Harry knew that people, normal people at least, did get gifts on their birthday though. After all, his cousin had always gotten a lot of gifts on his. Harry just never expected to ever get one himself.

He quickly took the bag from his self-proclaimed mentor and held it in his hands hesitantly. Harry thought they both must look a bit funny to anyone watching, since neither of them seemed to know what they were doing. It made Harry wonder if Mr. Tom had ever celebrated a birthday himself or if this was the first time for him too.

If Harry had to guess he would say that it was.

"Can I, um…open it now?" Harry asked moving the bag about to see if he could guess what was inside.

Mr. Tom shuffled a bit and seemed unsure about what to do with his hands, he finally seemed to decide that the best place for them was his pockets and quickly shoved them in. "I don't see why not, it is your birthday after all."

As soon as those words left the man's lips Harry tore into the bag, a smile spread across his face as he saw what was contained inside. "It's a ball!" Harry said excitedly, letting the bag drop to the floor forgotten as he removed the bright red ball from within.

"thats littering Harry, haven't we discussed this?" Mr. Tom reprimanded him and he bent down and recovered the bag. Harry didn't pay much attention though, as he was happily observing his birthday gift. He threw the ball up into the air, caught it, and very nearly dropped it as it changed colors at soon as it hit his hands.

"Wow," Harry said as he tried it again, this time when the ball hit his hand it turned a bright green. Harry's smile widened as he bounced the ball on the ground, it flashed yellow as it hit the sidewalk and then turned blue as so as he caught it again. "It's magic!" Harry said excitedly as he continued to bounce it at his feet.

"You expected anything less?" He heard Mr. Tom ask and Harry looked up to see him observing him, Mr. Tom did that a lot, his face held a look like he was trying to understand something that didn't make any sense to him.

"I've never gotten a gift before," Harry said as a way of answer. He bounced the ball one more time, restoring it to its original red. "You're the best!"

Mr. Tom shifted uncomfortable at that before indicating with a nod of his head down the street. "Though I don't mind staying here all day, I thought you might want to actually go somewhere."

Harry blushed a little in embarrassment, realizing both that they were still standing just outside of Wool's front gate and that he actually hadn't thought up any plans for the day. "Um…" Harry said looking down at the ball in his hands and trying to think of something they could so. What did other kids usually do on their birthdays? He didn't have friends or a house to invite people over to, nor did he have someone to make food or a cake like his aunt used to on his cousin's birthday.

What did you do then when you didn't have a house or friends to have a birthday party with?

Mr. Tom seemed to realize that Harry had no idea what to do and thankfully cut in, "Well, if you have yet to eat then I think that would probably be a good place to start, don't you?"

Harry looked up at him with a smile "Ya! Can we go to Ms. Gudrun's!?" Harry asked excitedly.

Mr. Tom cringed, which worried Harry, but he ended up nodding anyway "Very well." He consented and Harry happily followed him in the direction of the little tea shop. Harry didn't understand why Mr. Tom didn't like Ms. Gudrun's; Harry thought that her food was the best in the whole of England.

* * *

Brunch had been amazing, though Harry thought that that was probably due more to the fact that he was still hyped up from his gift than anything else. He had spent most of the time telling Mr. Tom about his plans for the summer and how he had managed to sneak a couple of books from school on the last day (The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, which was one of his favorites when that had read it this year, and a book of nonsense poems that he thought were funny). He knew that Mr. Tom didn't actually listen to him when he talked about things like this, but Harry was just happy with the fact that he had someone to talk _to. _

They had left the little tea shop and Harry tried to think up something fun to do for the rest of the day, but he was finding his imagination lacking. He didn't have any idea what there was to do on your birthday, or if there was really anywhere special to go that was close enough to walk to. All he really wanted to do anyway was go to their little park and play on the swings (and to Harry it was _their_ park because no one else was ever there anyway).

Mr. Tom had agreed, though Harry got the feeling he would have agreed to take him anywhere had he been able to think of it. It made him feel special, knowing that someone was willing to do what he wanted.

The park was about nine blocks away from the tea shop, and Harry knew they weren't very good nine blocks either. As they turned onto Gorgon's road Harry inched his way closer to Mr. Tom, getting as close as he could without actually grabbing onto the man's shirt. Harry held his new ball in front of himself protectively and let his eyes search around, watching all of the dark corners for other people. No one had approached them before, but Harry had sometimes seen people watching them, women and men alike, and Harry knew that someday one of them would finally decide to attack them.

This street was the main reason that none of the orphans, including Harry, ever dared to go this way alone. Most of the businesses had gone out of business ages ago and were boarded up and condemned. Those that were still open sold things that Harry had been told he was either too young to know about or that he should never mess with unless he wanted to go to jail. There were also a large number of small back alleyways that connected to the road, they were dark and musky and often smelled like the bathrooms at Wool's when they got backed up. All these factors worked together to make it one of the most dangerous places in London, no matter the time of day.

Mr. Tom didn't seem to ever notice this though, or if he did he never seemed to care. This worried Harry a bit because he had heard that people like Mr. Tom who dressed nicely and had money tended to die on this road. He knew Mr. Tom had magic but he wasn't sure if magic was able to protect you from a gun, or if Mr. Tom would even be fast enough to cast a spell if someone decided to shoot him from one of the alleys. He didn't want Mr. Tom to die, Mr. Tom was the only person in the world that was ever really nice to him and he didn't want to lose that.

They were about half way down the long stretch of road when a voice cut through the air just a little ways in front of them. "Hey handsome," it said, and a women made an appearance in a small gap between two buildings. The woman was stick thin and had on a really short dress and really high heels. Her face was painted in an almost rainbow of colors, though her bright red lips stood out the most, and she smelled like Anna did that one time she had stolen her teacher's perfume and had put on way too much. Harry had seen women like her before, he had been told they were called something like 'prostitutes' though he didn't really know what that meant. "Why don't you ditch the kid and come- oh, it's you." The women's flirtatious look vanished like smoke, her bright red lips turning from a teasing smile to a deep sneer of disgust.

"I've heard of you, the insane man whose been watching out for the freak kid." Harry looked down at the ground and tried to ignore the women. He had hoped that they could just walk by her, but she had moved far enough into the sidewalk to be blocking their path. Mr. Tom came to a slow stop a few feet from the women and Harry looked around fearfully, worried that she might not be alone. He didn't see anyone else, but that didn't mean they weren't hiding somewhere. He moved himself closer to Mr. Tom, hoping to pull him to the other side of the road so that they could just walk by her that way, but Mr. Tom seemed to be frozen in place.

"Everyone knows the boys already off, demon kid they say. But now they're all say there's something wrong with you too, up here," she said, indicating with her fake nails to her head, "though if you ask me n' the girls, well we think there might be something wrong with ya' a little _further down. _What cha think,ya?" she smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. Mr. Tom's hands balled into fists and Harry was suddenly very worried about what was going to happen next.

"Come on Mr. Tom," Harry said quietly, wanting only to get away from the mean lady and her even meaner words "let's just go on the other side of the –" he started, but quickly lost his voice as he finally noticed to look on his guardians face.

He had seen Mr. Tom agitated and angry before, but it had never been like this. His eyes, which Harry was sure had been blue before were a bright mean looking red, almost like the women's too shiny lipstick, and his face was murderous. His teeth were clenched tight and lips were pulled back in a snarl. His hands which were clenched into fists at his sides shook with hatred.

Harry took a step back in fear, clasping his ball tight in front of him. He had never been scared of Mr. Tom before, had never really thought that Mr. Tom was someone to be afraid _of, _but now he was terrified. The man in front of him now looked less like a man and more like a monster.

Harry realized that it wasn't Mr. Tom that needed to fear when walking down Gorgon's road; it was the people on Gorgon's road that needed to fear Mr. Tom.

Harry just wasn't sure if he should fear him too.

Voldemort, by this point, was no longer paying attention to Harry. Instead every ounce of his concentration was dedicated to the vial women in front of him.

He was so tired of this, he thought as more and more idiotic words fell from the woman's useless mouth. He was so fed up with muggles talking to him, lecturing him, thinking that they were worth being listened to. He was tired of their voices, of their faces, of every single little insignificant thing about them. He was tired of it all.

And he was tired of this woman, who was spewing filth from her red painted lips; who had the audacity to confront him while Harry was around. Who had the Gaul to speak about both him and the boy in such a manner, as if, she, _a mere muggle sex worker was somehow above them!_

He was the Dark Lord Voldemort! He held power that these vermin couldn't even _begin_ to comprehend. Power, He realized now, that he had given up when he had become Mr. Tom. It was that power that he needed to reclaim if he ever wanted to feel himself again, if he ever wanted to be respected again. And he wanted to; he wanted to be feared, to have people terrified to speak out against him, to make it so that they wouldn't _dare _to ever say such things against him ever again. He wanted to be able to kill without a second thought, he was tired of pretending he didn't, he was tired of being someone else, and he was tired of holding back.

He wanted to stain that woman's blood red lips with real blood, to see it boil up from the depths of her throat and pour down her mouth as she chocked on her own disgusting and filthy blood. To show her, in the seconds just before she died, just how worthless she was.

Then his magic took over and it was happening, starting first with a couple of drops of blood flying from her mouth as she continued to spew hate, only for them to splatter upon the ground. Then bigger drops began to appear, moving to stain her teeth and her blood red lips. Finally, _finally,_ she stopped talking, her voice cut off by a heavy gurgling sound, and her manicured hands flew up to her throat as she choked on her own blood. It was boiling up thick and black in the back of her throat until it finally oozed out of her mouth like tar.

She fell to her knees and convulsed before dropping to the ground dead. The blood continued to pour from her mouth staining her blond hair pink and coating the ground in what would soon become a sticky coagulated mess.

Harry took a fearful step back and clutched his head where his scar was _burning_. His hand came away with blood and for a second he thought it was the women's before a steady stream started to pour down his own face.

The doubled over and vomited, his ball falling to the ground beside him and bouncing a distance away, its colors flashing red and blue, like a parody of a police car's sirens.

The sound brought the Dark Lord back to the present and he quickly turned to see Harry on the ground, vomit dripping down his chin and blood splashing into the pavement beneath him. For one terrifying moment he thought he had hurt the child. A thought that quickly brought his anger welling up again. He should not _care _if he had hurt the child, it shouldn't _matter_, but, somehow, despite everything he had done, everything he had told himself, it _did_. It was that blasted 'Mr. Tom' persona again; He could almost feel his thought process shifting over, like a mask slamming back into place. He tried to resist the change, but just looking at the boy's wretched state seemed make it impossible.

He needed to fix this, he needed to figure out what was wrong with his broken mind, he just didn't know _how_.

The ground had disappeared from under him and he knew now that he was falling, that he had been for a long time.

Harry pushed himself shakily onto his knees, doing his best to not look at the dead women on the ground. He forced himself to swallow a few times, his mouth burning with the taste of acid, before he seemed to finally find his voice "You-you killed her" he rasped out, keeping his eyes on the ground beside him. He wondered if there had been anyone else around that had seen it, he wondered if they would even care if they had, he didn't think they would, not here.

"She was out of line she-" Voldemort tried to explain, pushing down the thought that he shouldn't feel like he _needed _to explain his actions to the boy. "She needed to learn why you don't-"

"They were just _words_!" Harry screamed at him, his head lashing up so quickly that Voldemort thought he had to have hurt his neck. The boy's eyes were watery, though if it was from actual sadness or just a side effect from the vomiting he couldn't be sure, "they were just stupid unimportant words! They didn't _matter_!" The anger and betrayal leaked into Harry's voice and Voldemort's own anger came back with a vengeance. What did the boy have to feel _betrayed _about! He hadn't been trying to kill _him_, even though by every right he should be. Instead he had actually stood there and essentially defended not only himself but the boy too!

How did the child not _see _that?!

"If you allow vermin like this to walk all over you then they will _always _walk all over you! How many people say things like this to you!? How many of them do you let get away with it when you know you have the power to stop them!? You can tell me all you like that you can ignore their words, their hate, that you can tune them out. You may have even convinced _yourself _that you don't hear them, that they don't _hurt_. But I see the way you look when they speak like that around you, when you talk about the other kids at the orphanage and at your school. You can try to pretend all you like, but we both know that those words hurt more than any of their blows ever could." Because that was the truth of it, because everyone always said 'sticks and stones' but no one ever truly mentioned the devastating effects of words, how they followed you throughout your life, haunting you, giving you reason to doubt yourself constantly. Every failure punctuated by the hurtful saying of your peers, always wondering if they had been right.

Voldemort had found that power was the only way of shutting those voices up, because power allowed you to prove them wrong, allowed you to show the world that you were _better _than them, that you were above them and there stupid little words. No one dared to speak against you when they knew you could kill them with little more than a thought.

Which was why he hated 'Mr. Tom', because 'Mr. Tom' was everything he had tried to move above. 'Mr. Tom' was powerless, was stuck living in a place he hated, was stuck living among _muggles_. 'Mr. Tom' was forced, day in and day out to sit idly by as things were said about him _to him_ and knowing that he couldn't, wouldn't, stop them.

'Mr. Tom' was a powerless nobody, and Voldemort would no longer permit him to clog up his thoughts.

He looked down at Harry, who looked like his anger had shifted into pure despair, though maybe it had been his words that had triggered that. Tears rolled down the child's cheeks as he kept his eyes on the ground in front of him.

Voldemort understood, very suddenly, that he needed to leave. If he ever wanted to get his head on straight again he needed to get away from this situation, from this stupid twice damned corner of London and, most importantly, away from this boy who made him into someone he was not.

If he ever wanted to be himself again, if he ever wanted to be the Dark Lord Voldemort again, he needed to escape.

He turned to the dead woman's body laying half way out of the alleyway and cast a burning hex, turning her into just a pile of ash. The smell of burning flash and bone filled the air, a small that helped to center him, remind him who he was: he was The Dark Lord Voldemort; he wouldn't let some child change that.

With a deep breath, one that he refused to admit was shaky, he apparited away, leaving Harry alone on the ground with a pile of dust and a ball.

* * *

There are some chapters that demand to be written, and this was one of them. Because of this it ended up being much longer then the others, I had thought of dividing it into two chapters, but then I didn't think it flowed as well. so instead you all get this monster.

I will be moving across country soon so i likely will not update for a while, I apologize in advance.

Thank you again to all of you who reviewed and i hope you enjoy this chapter too.

TheSeaAtNight


End file.
